


Some Assembly Required

by webslinger9_5am



Series: Warning Labels [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Adults swear, Don't tell Steve, Gen, Not showing this would be unrealistic, People die. It's a superhero fanfic., Potential Spoilers, Teenagers swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2018-10-19 03:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 46,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10630857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webslinger9_5am/pseuds/webslinger9_5am
Summary: After the events of Civil War, Peter returns home to Queens where a new threat is quickly evolving. Weapons, not unlike those used by the Chitari several years ago, are being shipped and sold on the black market, worse they're being used to hurt the people of Queens and someone new has taken control of the trade. Someone worse than anyone Peter's ever faced before.Warning: the author has seen the movie. Any similarities are now completely on purpose. If you don't want spoilers, WATCH THE MOVIE FIRST.





	1. The Rifle Spiral

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, The Sting Of Betrayal  
> Disclaimer: none of the characters and the views of said characters are owned by the author of this fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Adrian Toomes, your friendly neighborhood, Well, you'll find out.

Adrian Toomes trotted through the halls towards Gregory’s office. He'd finally gotten the flight suit working! Gregory was going to be-

Adrian’s excited grin dropped at the sight of the police in his business partner’s office, locking handcuffs around Gregory's wrists, while another officer read him his rights.

“What's going on here?” Adrian asked, glancing between the police and his friend. Gregory refused to meet his eyes.

“Mr. Bestman is being charged with embezzlement,” one of the officers, a young portly woman in her late thirties with blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, replied, “We found a significant amount of money being drained into his accounts from company funds.”

“But how did you start the investigation?” Adrian’s frown deepened, “No one reported it, did they?” _He_ certainly hadn't.

“The bank did,” the woman answered again, “Your company's payroll overdrafted your account by several thousand dollars.” Adrian shot Gregory a look of utter betrayal, “Gregory, is this true?”

The other man huffed, “It wouldn't have mattered if that damn horse had won.” Toomes felt anger boil in his veins, “A _horse_?! You ran our company into the ground because you bet on a damn _horse_?!”

Bestman shrugged, unconcerned, “It wasn't my fault-”

“What're we going to tell our employees, Greig?!” Toomes snapped before Bestman could finish.

One of the officers stepped between them with a hand raised in warning but Toomes paid him no mind, “We don't even have the money to lay them off! What were you thinking?!”

“Mr. Toomes, I think that's quite enough,” the officer between them interjected.

Toomes stepped back, still scowling at his former friend, “Yeah. I think it is.” Bestman looked up at that and Toomes felt his hands curl into tight, shaking fists of their own accord.

He had to force himself to step aside as the police led Bestman from the office. They could have him. He probably had enough money stashed away to post bail several times over.

It wouldn't matter by the time Adrian was done with him. He would make sure Bestman paid for his indifference and every other rich and powerful sleazebag out there.

This wasn't over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! :)


	2. By the State Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes back to school after the fight in Leipzig airport. This would probably take place during or immediately after Cap, Bucky, and Tony hash it out in Siberia time-wise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient. There isn't a lot of action in this chapter because there are a lot of new characters to bring in, but I'm hoping to have it pick up in the next few.

Peter Parker was not happy to be back. Don't get him wrong- He was perfectly happy to be state-side and back with Aunt May. He just wished (like most teenagers did) that it didn't have to mean school. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Mr. Stark that he had homework. He had a Spanish paper due and a quiz in Algebra today. Why his teacher thought having a quiz the day after a test was a good idea was beyond him. Really. There was no point.

Peter shouldered his backpack and almost made it to his locker before someone shoved him and sent the heavy bag careening towards the floor. The brunet just managed to catch the strap before it could hit, saving his laptop, Algebra, Physics, and Spanish textbooks from a hard linoleum death. Great. He was sure they would be eternally grateful.

“Watch where you're going, Parker,” a voice called mockingly somewhere in the throng of students.

Peter sighed and carefully slid his bag back on his shoulder. He definitely hadn't missed Flash and his morning book checks- not that he'd been gone long enough to find out what it would be like to live without them (a guy can dream, though, can't he?).

“Did he get you yet?” A voice asked from behind him.

Peter looked over his shoulder.

Ned Leeds, best friend and Star wars fanboy extraordinaire, stood exactly three inches shorter and five inches wider than Peter with floppy black hair and light brown skin. His textbooks and sweater were disheveled enough that Peter would guess Flash got him too.

“Yeah,” The brunet sighed and resumed the trek towards his locker.

Ned followed, as always, “You'd think he'd get bored of it.”

Peter snorted and opened his locker to grab his Chemistry book, “Yeah, but for that to happen, he'd have to realize it’s pointless to mess with us and I don't think he has enough brain cells for that.”

Ned hummed, not really paying attention, “Maybe we should set Michelle on him.”

Peter shot him an incredulous look, “Are you kidding? You've gotta be. She barely talks to us. How are you planning on convincing her to go after him?”

Ned grinned and Peter was really not liking the glint in his eyes. It meant they were about to do something stupid and dangerous- well, Maybe not dangerous in the standard life threatening sense but enough to earn the fiery retribution of their peers, which would be equally unpleasant.

“We get her to think Flash stole one of her books,” Ned said conspiratorially.

Peter's eyes bugged, “What- No. _No_ , Ned. That is _such_ a bad idea. You have- what if she finds out it was us? We'd be dead.” Ned would be, anyway. Peter would probably heal- why was he thinking about this?!

“Either way, We wouldn't have to deal with Flash anymore,” the teen joked morbidly- and he _was_ joking. Ned Leeds was many things, but he was _not_ suicidal.

“But we'd still have to deal with her,” Peter pointed out, “And probably Liz.”

Ned grimaced, “Which means the entire cheerleading squad. Nevermind,” He shuddered.

The cheerleading squad had a tendency to be incredibly vindictive when they felt like someone had hurt one of their own and Liz Allan was one of the better liked girls in their group. Her relationship with one Eugene “Flash" Thompson meant the pig headed jock was virtually untouchable to anyone who didn't want to die a slow, painful, entirely exaggerated death.

“Yuh know, I don't think it's that bad, do you?” Ned said casually.

Peter raised an eyebrow at this but he thought he knew what Ned was talking about, “Nah. It's only a couple minutes a day.”

That earned him a grin right before the warning bell rang and they both scrambled for their separate classrooms.

 

Students were just starting to file in by the time Peter dropped his bag on the lab table he normally shared with yet another unfortunate prisoner of the high school curriculum. Manuel, the boy in question, wasn't there yet.

Peter shook his head and unzipped his bag, pulling out an old laptop he'd fixed a few months before _it_ happened. The speakers on the computer were still shot but the web browser and word processor both worked just fine. It saved him from having to turn the volume off when the screen lit up, at least.

There was still a good four minutes until Mrs. Wells started class so Peter booted up the web browser while his notes on calculating velocity from last class loaded.

He hadn't heard anything from Mr. Stark. A medevac had flown in for someone but Peter hadn't seen who due to the mild concussion and cracked ribs he'd been sporting at the time.

The Black Widow had come by immediately after that and dragged him off to the quinjet that he and Mr. Stark had arrived in. It had been situated well away from the fighting and was, therefore, blissfully intact.

He'd gingerly curled up in the copilot’s seat while miss Romanoff flew them back to the states and he'd passed out somewhere along the way.

Peter rubbed at his right side absently with a grimace. His ribs were still sore and rapidly decompressing the damaged bone had definitely not been a good idea but Mr. Stark's doctor had okayed him to go home- with a stern warning to take it easy.

Right now, Peter was kind of just hoping the giant dude hadn't died when he fell over. If the guy's ability didn't do anything to break the law of the conversation of mass, then his bone density would have been a lot lower and normal people would die falling from that height. Maybe the medevac was for him.

Peter sincerely hoped not.

The page finally blinked into existence and he quickly tapped out the appropriate search right as the bell rang, forcing him to switch back to his notes for the time being.

“Did we have homework last night?”

Peter whipped towards the source of the voice at his side and slumped in relief when all he found was Manuel giving him a weird look.

“Dude, I literally sat down right after you,” Manuel said.

Peter blinked and fiddled with the sleeve of his hoodie, “Right. Right, Yeah, I know. I just wasn't expecting you to talk to me. You're, like, super quiet, man... This isn't working, is it?”

Manuel shook his head.

“Right… homework. There wasn't homework- review, though. You were supposed to look over the chapter because we have a quiz tomorrow.”

Manuel grimaced, “Aww, really? But it's Wednesday.”

Peter shrugged and winced when the action pulled at his healing ribs, “It'll be Thursday tomorrow,” her pointed out.

“That doesn't make it any better,” the other replied.

“Alright, everyone, settle down. I know you want to stay in motion, but this outside force needs you to be at rest,” The teacher called, “Romero, not that at rest.”

The student in question straightened on his stool to a chorus of snickers.

 

He had _not_ accidentally killed the giant guy- who was apparently called Scott Lang. From what Peter could make of the footage, the former Vista corp employee slash ex-con turned vigilante had only left with a few bumps, bruises, and a severe lack of vitamin C. That last one had been taken care of and he and the others had been shipped off to some super secret holding pen.

The whole thing sounded sort of sketchy, but for the moment Peter was satisfied. He could save hacking into secret military grade firewalls for next Tuesday. Mr. Stark probably wouldn't approve but it wasn't like Peter was going to bust them out or anything.

“Hey, Pete. You okay in there?”

Peter startled at the sound of Ned's voice.

“You looked kind of like you were spacing out for a second there,” the other teen explained.

Peter craned his neck to take in the light open- if not crowded- space of his surroundings, “ Uh,” Cafeteria. People were milling around, chatting in line. Peter hadn't even noticed the walk there. He still had his physics and Spanish textbooks in his bag. Normally, he would drop them off at his locker before lunch. Oops, “I was just thinking.”

Ned raised an eyebrow like that was something unusual.

Peter was not amused but the teen would demand answers if he deflected anyway, “The big guy from that airport in Germany has gotta have something that strengthens the molecular bonds in his body.”

Bad brain. Bad.

Peter's gut twisted.

“What makes you say that?” Ned asked, discretely dragging the brunet to one of the four lunch lines.

“Well, the guy was, what, two stories tall?” Peter explained, following without resistance, “His body shouldn't have been as dense, which would make his overall structure weaker. Two stories is roughly thirty feet, average height for an adult male is around six foot which means he was five times his normal size. So, basically, a normal punch would do five times the damage because the density of his body is one fifth what it was when he was normal sized.”

Ned nodded while he added the appropriate foods to the two trays he'd grabbed: a double slice of pepperoni and a chocolate milk for one, two slices of cheese and a skim for the other

“At the end of the fight he got knocked over,” Peter continued, completely oblivious to the fact that they were in line at all, “And with him being two stories tall and one fifth the density,” The brunet shrugged his good shoulder, “Most normal people wouldn't have survived that.”

Ned hummed and added a side of cut fruit to each tray, “You do realize you're trying to apply normal physics to something that a quantum physicist created, right?”

Peter hunched his shoulders defensively as Ned passed him the tray with the cheese pizza, “Yeah, I know. It'd just be nice to know how it worked. He ripped up a plane like it was nothing.”

Ned hummed in the kind of agreement that meant he was just humoring Peter's excuses. He'd been doing it a lot more since Peter had become Spider-Man.

If Ned didn't regularly gush about how cool superheroes were, Peter would be worried that he knew. The day _that_ happened, Peter would be in real trouble.

As it happens, Ned just went to punch in his lunch code without so much as an excited grin, “I think you're missing something very important here,” he said once he was done and waiting on Peter.

Peter carefully input his code without getting his fingers stuck to the buttons. It had been embarrassing enough at home, “What's that?”

“Spider-Man watched Star Wars,” Ned beamed.

Peter shot him a confused look and followed him away from the line. Of course he watched Star Wars. Ned was- oh, right.

“I can't believe this,” Ned continued in mock disgust as they sat down at an empty table, “You don't get what that means?”

Peter shrugged his good shoulder and glanced at Michelle one table over like she would explain anything.

The dark haired girl just turned the page in her book, completely oblivious.

“He likes movies?” Peter guessed.

“He's as big a nerd as us!” Ned corrected in an excited crow that had Michelle glancing their way with a raised eyebrow.

“So, he's foolishly incapable of normal social interaction?” Peter asked for the heck of it, though, when he thought about it, his track record for normal conversations was pretty bad- even as Spider-Man… especially as Spider-Man.

Ned let out an exasperated sigh, “It's clear you still have much to learn in your training, my young padawan.”

Peter snorted and caught Michelle shooting them a weird look over her book.

“Teach me your ways, oh master,” Yeah. He never claimed to be normal. He wasn't proud of it, but it got an eye roll out of her so that was something.

“Next Friday. Six thirty,” Ned declared, “We'll work on your knowledge of the different starships.”

“And Spanish homework,” Peter added around a mouthful of pizza. It was the only subject Peter had any trouble with- besides gym, but that was different.

“And Spanish homework,” Ned agreed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and suggestions are appreciated. Thanks for reading!  
> :)


	3. Tiger's Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After school, Peter finds that maybe the Avengers' conflict wasn't as black and white as he initially thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I accidentally wrote part of chapter 4 and then got stuck. This was originally a lot longer and the last two thirds will probably wind up in chapter 4 or 5 because of their timing.

The news was on when Peter unlocked the door to his and Aunt May’s shared apartment.

**_Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes Still at Large_ ** scrolled across the bottom of the screen while a camera got a landscape shot of the Avengers tower from a distance.

_ “...and while no further sign has been found of the two former soldiers, Tony Stark has been recovered and is in stable condition in the medical wing of Avengers Tower,”  _ A newscaster said off-screen, “ _ Again, authorities ask citizens to report any suspicious characters or any sightings of Rogers or Barnes so they can be brought to justice.” _

Aunt May chose that moment to make her presence at Peter's left side known, “Hey, sweety. How was school?”

Peter startled and glanced her way, still mainly focused on the grainy photos of Barnes and Captain America on the screen, “Fine. It was- fine- okay. I passed the quiz in Algebra.”

He could practically see May furrow her brow without even looking over at her, “Didn't you have a test yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Peter said absently.

The reporter was talking about the super max prison the other Avengers were being held in and the camera was back in the anchor room, “ _ Unfortunately, we can't show you any footage from the prison as the facilities and its contents are classified,”  _ the news anchor was saying.

Peter frowned. That sounded super shady- and not just because superhumans were involved. Didn't they need a trial? He'd seen criminals whose actions were televised still get trials. Obviously, they lost, but that wasn't the point. The point was something wasn't right here and Peter was going to find out why.

“Peter,” May called in a tone that suggested she'd been trying to get his attention for several minutes.

Peter blinked and looked at her, “Yeah- sorry, what were you asking?”

“I said: do you want to take Tony something?” She repeated, moving towards the fridge, “I could make the walnut date loaf again and you could take it by the Tower tomorrow.”

Peter trailed after her, “Actually, You know, I don't think Mr. Stark really likes walnut date loaf.”

“Really?” She asked with the slightest bit of guilt, “I made him eat, like three slices.”

Peter smiled ruefully, “He was being polite.”

“Oh,” she shrugged and pulled out a package of chicken breasts and a bag of cheese, “Well, you like it, right?”

Peter did a poor mockery of her shrug, “Yeah,  _ with tea _ .”

May smirked and Peter could swear she was remembering the first time she'd made the bread. Uncle Ben had practically devoured the loaf while Peter had almost lost what little he'd managed to swallow without the assistance of liquid. It was only afterwards that they told him it was supposed to go with tea.

May's smirk dimmed to something soft and poignant as Peter moved in to help her make the casserole.

He lightly bumped her shoulder with his before fishing a mixing bowl from the lower cabinets, “So what kind of casserole are we making?”

May took the distraction with a mischievous grin, “I was thinking cheesy chicken noodle. You up for it?”

Peter nodded, “Let's do this.”

  


Making the casserole with Aunt May had turned out to be a lot of fun- not that he'd expected it to be anything else. They'd started cooking together more lately, though, as soon as it was cooling to put in the fridge, she'd shooed him out of the kitchen to go work on his homework while she made their actual dinner. 

Three bowls of spaghetti and two Bond movies later, Aunt May was passed out on the couch, using Peter as a sort of pillow- teddy bear hybrid. 

The teen had carefully extracted himself and propped her up with a real pillow before slinking off to don his suit.

Peter whooped as he flew through the air. Wind whistled past his ears and curled along the skin of his face like he wasn't wearing a mask at all.

Under normal circumstances, he hated heights but out here, swinging through the air under his own power, it was exhilarating. 

It felt like he was flying- or at least it did before something flew through his webbing and suddenly he wasn't.

Peter gave a shout of alarm as the jolt from whatever it was sent him tumbling head over heels towards the the moving cars eight stories below.

He blindly fired a web and yelped when the action wrenched at his arm.

Engines whirred overhead as he fired another web to keep from crashing into the building he was currently attached to. 

A look up gave him a glance of blinding green lights before the thing slammed into him and his back hit brick.

Fire escapes are greatly underestimated. With enhanced individuals such as Captain America running around, they often wind up crumpled like paper. Peter wouldn't bet on a fire escape standing against Captain America if it was made of titanium. 

This fire escape was different and it most certainly did _ not _ crumple like paper when Peter hit the side railing chest first. It didn't dent when he caught the next level down either.

He wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that. In pain was starting to look like his only option, though dizzy was coming in at a close second.

Peter hauled himself back up the side of the building and peered into the night for the green thing but the only glow was the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The news announcement is acting under the assumption that no one knows where Steve or Bucky are so they could be anywhere.  
> Also, the compound is more Cap's place so I doubt Tony would want to stay there after they fought.  
> Steve has not broken into the Raft yet. Thanks for reading! :)


	4. And Those We Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finds out about Siberia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would be the two thirds. Next chapter might take a bit longer. All I had to do was proofread this. Auto correct is the devil.

Carrying a casserole in a glass dish while swinging across the city was, admittedly, not what Peter would consider to be a good idea. Therefore, he touted the meal all the way to the subway then hoofed it from Lexington Hill pedestrian style in a cooler Aunt May had found.

His suit had stayed at home this time around but he'd tucked a set of web shooters under his sweatshirt sleeves just in case. 

Somehow, even with his infamous levels of bad luck and two hours of train ride, Peter made it to Park avenue without incident. Actually getting to the tower wasn't that much more difficult. He had to run to get across several streets to avoid getting run over by a few overzealous taxi drivers but he made it. 

No one so much as glanced his way when the fifteen year old ducked through the glass front doors.

“...gotta find the source of that leak- Call me when you find anything. Peter?”

His head snapped towards the security desk and a nervous grin spread across his face at the sight of one Mr. Happy Hogan- No,  _ not _ like Hogan’s Heroes- giving him a confused frown.

“H-hi, Mr. Hogan,” Peter greeted and padded over to the desk, “Is Mr. Stark in?”

The frown didn't abate, “Yeah. What's in the bag?”

Peter looked down at the collapsible cooler, “Oh,” he carefully lifted it from his side and set it on the desk for Mr. Hogan to see, “Cheesy chicken noodle casserole. My Aunt May thought it might cheer him up- I mean- you know with everything happening- and all the-”

“Kid, I get it,” Mr. Hogan interrupted, but he sounded more amused than anything else and he wasn't frowning anymore. He pushed the cooler back across the desk, “He's on floor thirty three with Colonel Rhodes.”

Peter grinned and carefully slipped the strap over his good shoulder, “Thanks, Mr. Hogan,” he said and started off for the elevator.

“I told you to call me Happy, kid,” the chief of security called after him.

“And I told you to call me Peter,” the teen shot back before stepping through the sliding doors that would take him up.

The thirty third floor was a lounge with a fully stocked bar on one wall, three really nice couches that probably cost more than the entire Parker apartment circled around a sleek black coffee table, and stairs up to a second level that overlooked the whole thing. The whole thing also including the most amazing view of Manhattan anyone could get without climbing the buildings. 

Even without a sunset, the buildings sparkled.

Mr. Stark was currently taking advantage of the bar, sprawled across one of the couches with a tumbler of something faintly brown in a lot of ice while Colonel Rhodes watched him disapprovingly from the closest side of the adjacent couch. He had a wheelchair parked immediately behind him for some unfathomable reason. The sling on the billionaire’s other arm was probably a big part of that- the Colonel's frown, that is, not the chair.

Peter looked between them uncertainly and edged up behind the couch Colonel Rhodes was on, stopping next to the wheelchair.

“You really shouldn't be drinking that while you're on pain killers,” Colonel Rhodes said. 

“I'll be fine, mom,” Mr. Stark grumbled dismissively.

“Are you sure?” Peter asked. If they hadn't noticed him yet, they did now. 

Mr. Stark had an eyebrow raised skeptically and the Colonel’s forehead was starting to take on some raisin like qualities with his own brows climbing it as they were.

“‘cause narcotics don't tend to mix well with depressants and you don't have the best medical history to begin with,” Peter continued, fingering the strap of the cooler.

“Tony,” Colonel Rhodes said in a warning tone.

“Rhodey, Peter Parker,” Mr. Stark said, carelessly gesturing between them with his glass, “Peter, Rhodey.”

“And he's here because?” Colonel Rhodes prompted.

“I don't know,” Mr. Stark said like that was something fascinating in and of itself, “Why  _ are _ you here, half pint?”

“Uh,” Peter stalled, drawing a complete blank for a solid ten seconds, “Oh! Right! Um, we saw the news- They said you were hurt and we wanted to know if you were okay but Aunt May thought you could use some cheering up so I brought casserole.”

They were staring at him. Crap! What'd he say?

“Yeah, I only caught half of that,” Mr. Stark said.

Great.

Peter sighed, “Aunt May sent me to check on you,” he said more slowly. It actually sounded like normal speech. Ned would be proud.

“And you brought food,” Mr. Stark finished.

“Yes,” Peter replied.

Mr. Stark narrowed his eyes, “Casserole?” 

“Yes,” the teen repeated, narrowing his own eyes. He wasn't sure if Mr. Stark was trying to make a point or being petulant.

“You'll have to forgive him. He's spent too much time in the labs. I don't think he knows what real food is anymore,” Colonel Rhodes joked. Colonel “this is serious, Tony" Rhodes  _ joked. _

If it hadn't already been twenty four hours, Peter would be worried he still had a concussion.

“Easy, Rhodes. You're gonna make the kid have a stroke,” Mr. Stark teased and set his glass on the side table between the two couches, “Let's see it, then.”

Peter blinked and then remembered what they'd been talking about. He circled around the back of Colonel Rhodes’ couch and set the cooler on the coffee table so he could unzip the top flap.

“It'll need to be reheated. We made it yesterday so I could just grab it after school, so,” Peter shrugged the shoulder not currently connected to still healing ribs.

“I'm sure it's fine,” Colonel Rhodes said.

“We can reheat it, too,” Mr. Stark pointed out while poking at the tinfoil, “I assume May's okay with you sticking around?”

Peter nodded, “I- yeah. She doesn't expect me back until nine.”

“Great!” Mr. Stark practically chirped, which sounded weird coming out of a fully grown adult male. He rocked to his feet and slipped the tumbler into the hand currently in a sling then snagged the cooler, “I'll take this and grab forks. Kid, come help me with the drinks and plates. Rhodes, you want anything?”

Peter startled at being included but Rhodey just craned his neck to look over the back of the couch and call, “I'll have a water.”

Peter nodded and hopped carefully through the narrow space between couch and side table. The kitchen was off to the side and _ behind _ the elevator which explains why Peter hadn't noticed it before.

Stainless steel appliances and a granite countertop ringed in a similarly topped island, creating an open feel to an otherwise separate room.

Mr. Stark had dumped the ice from his tumbler down the sink and was rooting around in the silverware drawer while the casserole reheated in the oven, “I've got soda, juice, milk and water,” the inventor said when Peter drew even with the gap in the counter.

“Okay,” the teen said.

“I'd offer you something stronger, but I think Aunt Hottie might kill me if I tried,” Mr. Stark added.

“ _ I'd _ kill you,” Rhodey called from the couch. Peter was pretty sure he was joking… maybe.

Mr. Stark smirked, at any rate.

Peter wearily opened the fridge rather than acknowledge it. 

That didn't wind up doing much to quell his nerves.

There was enough food in there to feed an army and it was all meticulously organized.

Neat stacks of water bottles and purple and red Tupperware took up the bottom shelf. The second was full of different juices, jugs of orange, apple, and blueberry juice laid out in rows. A gallon and a half of milk sat next to three cartons of eggs and condiments took up the other half of  _ that _ shelf. Peter didn't see whatever soda Mr. Stark had been talking about.

Peter gingerly plucked a water bottle from the shelf with the Tupperware and noted that each container was either marked Clint or Natasha.

Mr. Stark reached past his shoulder for the blueberry juice, “You getting anything, or are you just going to stare at my fridge?”

“Oh, uh, Yeah,” Peter grabbed the front jug of apple juice and nudged the door shut.

Mr. Stark eyed his choice skeptically but handed him a glass without comment.

“So, do you always take people you barely know baked goods?” Colonel Rhodes asked from the couch.

Peter looked up from his full glass, putting the cap back on the Apple juice jug, “What? Oh, no- not usually- no, my Aunt May is more- she normally handles the care packages,” he quickly ducked back into the fridge to put the juice back and avoid the Colonel's gaze.

“What changed?” Colonel Rhodes asked lightly.

The oven beeped.

Peter picked up their drinks and made his way back to the couch, “She had work-  _ and _ she probably figured I'd want to do it myself. She knows Mr. Stark even less than I do, so,” he shrugged and winced when his whole side throbbed.

Colonel Rhodes nodded his thanks when Peter handed him the water bottle, “So, how do you know Tony, Then?”

“Uh,” Peter looked over at the billionaire for help.

“September foundation,” Mr. Stark replied, plopping down with his juice and three forks balanced on a small stack of plates, “You wanted to work on- what was it? Robot fingers?”

“Artificial limbs,” Peter corrected, “for-for prosthetics. I want to see if I could connect the new limb to the body's nerve system so the person can feel it. There's already something like that out on the market, but I was hoping to make it more affordable. A lot of- a lot of amputees have problems with how expensive the treatments are so I thought maybe-”

Colonel Rhodes nodded, “I got it. You don't have to keep going.”

Mr. Stark was grinning smugly. Peter was starting to think he might be a little drunk.

The oven beeped again and Peter jumped over the back of the couch to rescue the casserole.

“So, is that what you’re into, Then?” Colonel Rhodes asked, “Robotics?”

Peter opened several drawers in search of oven mitts, “Uh, not really, no. It kind of depends on what I'm working on at the moment.”

“What else do you work on?” Colonel Rhodes asked.

Peter straightened from checking one of the lower cabinets and smacked his head on the underside of the drawer, “Ow. Uh… Computers mostly?”

“He has a couple of computers he took apart and put back together,” Mr. Stark explained, “He's a dumpster diver. We're working on it.”

Peter groaned and snagged the oven mitts from under a pot in the cabinet.

The cheese in the casserole was sizzling gently when he pulled it out of the oven, the warm scent wafting into the room. 

“That smells amazing. What is that?” Tony asked.

He already knew it was casserole so Peter assumed he meant the specific type- or he was teasing. You could never tell.

“Cheesy chicken noodle casserole,” Peter answered anyway and carefully brought the dish over to the coffee table, “Aunt May found the recipe on the internet a few months back.”

Mr. Stark immediately started poking at it the second the teen set out down on one of the mitts and pulled clear.

“It looks great, Peter,” Colonel Rhodes said while Peter sat down on the third couch.

“Thanks,” The teen fidgeted uncomfortably with the zipper of his hoodie, half wishing it was the comforting red and blue of his old suit, “So, I came here to make sure you're okay and you are _ definitely _ more injured than the last time I saw you…”

“You're wondering what happened,” Mr. Stark concluded, spearing a chunk of chicken to drop on his plate.

“I'd like to know that myself,” Colonel Rhodes said and took a swig of his water.

Mr. Stark dug out a healthy sized scoop of casserole and dumped it on one of the plates, “Well, turns out Barnes- that would be the one with the metal arm,” he added with a vague gesture for Peter's benefit, “Didn't bomb the UN summit. It was another guy named Zemo **.** Ross didn't care so I went up to Siberia to help put him down and found out Cap's buddy boy killed my parents.”

Peter frowned and Rhodes looked like he was trying to decide whether to kick something or comfort his best friend. Peter doubted he could actually do the former right now.

“ _ How _ did you find out?” Peter asked. If Zemo was manipulating them from the beginning, then he could have still been doing it in Siberia if he was the one who told Mr. Stark. Peter very much doubted Sergeant Barnes had willingly told Mr. Stark.

“Zemo had a tape from the surveillance,” Mr. Stark said grimly, “VHS. The thing was ancient there's no way he faked it.”

“Man, Tony, I'm sorry,” Colonel Rhodes said, shifting closer in his seat like he wanted to do more but he couldn't reach Mr. Stark without getting up.

Mr. Stark shrugged and passed him the plate of food, “I'm working through it. Surprisingly beating the shit out of him was a lot less therapeutic than I thought it would be.”

“But you left him alive, right?” Peter asked carefully.

Mr. Stark looked up with a second plate in hand. Something in his posture seemed to ease away and he smiled fondly, “Yeah, kid. He'll live.”

Peter hesitantly returned the smile and missed the curious look they both received from Colonel Rhodes.

Rhodey set aside his concerns about this seemingly random teenager that had managed to get past security. He had been trying to get Tony to talk for hours and the kid had managed it in under ten minutes. The fact that Tony had abandoned the his liquor the second he knew the kid was there was another bonus. If Peter could help Tony with whatever crap had happened in Siberia, he was good as far as Rhodes was concerned. He needed the backup anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Casserole can be found via googling.  
> Hogan's Heroes was a sitcom in the 1970's about American POW's in a Nazi prison camp.  
> There is also a real subway line that goes from Queens to Manhattan. One end is right next to Grand Central Terminal.  
> This is operating under the assumption that Rhodes does NOT know Peter is Spider-Man. This based on dialog from the airport scene.  
> Comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! :)


	5. At Your Convenience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Submarines do not make good prisons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. I apologize in advance for this.

Peter flew through the air as the sun set over Queens. 

Colonel Rhodes had been a lot more friendly outside the War Machine armor than Peter had expected. It lead the teen to believe that the bitter sarcasm and one liners at the airport had been due to who they'd been fighting- maybe even  _ why _ they'd been fighting, though he still wasn’t one hundred percent clear on that part. 

Mr. Stark had really tried hard to generalize when he'd explained and Peter had just about quoted him word for word when Captain America asked what he'd been told. The whole thing was monumentally frustrating. 

He'd only gone in on such a small amount of information because Mr. Stark had threatened to tell Aunt May and it couldn't be that bad a cause if Tony Stark was backing it. Okay, so that last one was really bad reasoning- especially considering the whole Ultron debacle- but it had made sense at the time. Aunt May couldn't find out and Mr. Stark was supposed to be one of the good guys.

Peter just didn't factor in that good guys made mistakes too.

It was definitely a fact he was going to need to look into later. For right now, he just relished in the feel of the wind on his skin and the thrill of sweeping through New York at high speeds.

That would of course be the moment someone decided to steal a lady's purse.

He heard the angry shout almost at the same time his spidey-sense went full blast in his head and he dropped to a fire escape. 

The purse scratcher was almost directly below him and had yet to be successful in actually stealing the purse. The lady it belonged to- because if the teal bedazzled purse didn't belong with the similarly bedazzled teal dress, he'd eat his mask- was currently kicking her attacker with her stiletto pumps. She was tall even without the high heels and well muscled, which was probably why the guy hadn't succeeded yet. Peter almost felt sorry for the guy as he crept down the wall to get closer to the two.

He didn't doubt that the lady could handle this on her own, but the less chance of someone getting hurt, the better.

“You know you should really ask before you take a lady's things,” Spider-Man remarked.

The woman froze.

The thief glared up at him and scoffed, “That ain't no lady-”

The woman kicked him again.

“That was rude,” Peter said with a frown- not that they could see it, “And Those work better if you stomp, by the way.”

The thief shot him an indignant scowl, “Hey, who- Gah!”

The lady wrenched her purse free after burying her heel in the guy's foot.

The thief pulled back his arm to punch her, “Why you fucking she-”

The lady kneed the guy in the crotch in the same instance Spider-Man webbed his hand and secured the other end to the underside of the lowest level of the fire escape.

Peter hopped down next to the lady and webbed the guy's other hand to his crotch, eliciting a pained squeak. Hey, he put it there.

The lady snorted and shouldered her purse- which was actually more of a bejeweled duffle bag, to be honest, “Better watch where you put your hands with those sticky fingers, hon.”

Peter tried not to laugh in front of the purse scratcher, “Hey, uh, ma'am? Do you think you could call the police for me? I've got places to be and he needs to be picked up.”

The brunette smiled, “Yeah, sure. You just skedaddle. I got this.”

Peter grinned under the mask and nodded, “Kay. Thanks. Have a nice night,” he said and was off again.

Five minutes, a really weird ATM robbery (Avengers masks? Really?) and a brush with lean mean and green later, Spider-Man was swinging down 13th street, completely at a loss.

The Vulture guy had completely disappeared. Peter had managed to actually see what he looked like aside from the glowing green eyes and it was just weird- if not a little impressive. Those wings had to have some serious lift to compensate for the weight of the metal and person inside and their maneuverability was incredible.

He had managed to keep these observations to himself, but-

**_Ka-Boom!_ **

Spider-Man nearly let go of his web as the convenience store one block up exploded in a shower of sparks and light. He dropped down a good twenty feet away and trotted towards it. The sun has only set twenty minutes ago so it was probably still open. Had there been people in there? He skirted the shredded remains of the car out front with a scowl directed at the curled metal and burning seats.

A scream from inside the convenience store brought him back to the task at hand and he charged, diving through the flames blocking the front door.

He landed-mercifully- on the one part of the front shelf that wasn't on fire. It was still hot though, and he scrambled off with a yelp.

Peter scanned the inside.

Noxious smoke was rolling off the former auto section (the front shelf) and the shelf had knocked its end display into the other door.

A couple of people were trying to shift it but the cardboard of the display had caught fire and the metal was practically glowing after being so close to the initial blast.

Peter carefully hopped his way over the tumbled second shelf. The clerk was coming back with a fire extinguisher.

The two people by the door flinched and coughed when Spider-Man landed next to them. The shorter of the two had her arms cradled close to her chest while the man she was with tugged her away from the growing blaze.

Peter quickly stepped between them and the display, stripping off his gloves. He flipped them around so they would cover his palms and smacked the display away from the door.

The metal framing smashed into the other shelves with a resounding crash as the couple shoved through the fire exit.

The clerk slipped out behind them, still clutching the fire extinguisher.

Peter followed, gingerly tugging his gloves back on, “Everyone okay?”

The trio sent him startled looks.

The clerk coughed and nodded.

Peter smiled in relief as sirens blared a few blocks off, “Good. See you around, then. Fire department and paramedics are on their way.”

He swung away before they had a chance to say anything else, looping around the building so he could get another look at the car out front.

The metal frame curled in on one side and out the other like someone had fired one of Iron Man's repulsors through it and into the store.

Peter frowned.

Mr. Stark wouldn't fire into a convenience store with civilians inside which meant someone else had access to the technology. He would have to bring it up with Mr. Stark.

In the meantime, he had some civil rights violations to look into and a shower to take. He smelled like smoke and gasoline. May was going to kill him.

She didn't kill him.

This was mostly due to the fact that he snuck into the shower before she even had a chance to smell the fumes. His suit would have to wait, though. He couldn't wash it with her home and he wasn't really sure _how_ to. Oh, well. He was going to see Mr. Stark tomorrow anyway.

Peter plopped down in his desk chair with a mug of cocoa and a fleece blanket over his Star Wars pajamas (courtesy of Ned), “Alright. So I'm a super secret military prison for supervillains. Where would I be?” he muttered, pulling out his laptop and linking it to his computer monitor so he had more screen space. Mr. Stark seemed pretty friendly with Secretary Ross for the accords to be their only business and Stark Industries had some pretty serious security so Peter was willing to bet the company that the prison used at least had  _ something _ to do with Mr. Stark.

“Stark Industries server, here I come,” Peter mumbled and started typing. 

It took about fifteen minutes and some very creative swearing but Peter was in. He had full access to any file connected to the network and Mr. Stark's AI hadn't made a peep- He thought. Oh, God, he hoped not. He probably hadn't thought this through well enough. He was in it now, though, may as well finish. He was only looking, after all.

Peter took a sip of his hot chocolate and started sifting through the data. It was only slightly less organized than Mr. Stark's fridge which meant finding the records of the prison- it was called The Raft, apparently- only took a few minutes and it was indeed using Stark Industries for security.

Peter grinned and pulled up their account, “Sorry, Mr. Secretary. You've got a leak in your boat.”

His door opened startling Peter before he could get anywhere past the list of initiating devices.

Aunt May quirked an eyebrow at him, “What're you still doing up? It's almost midnight.”

“Homework,” Peter glanced at the screens and hoped they looked enough like he was opening a word document for her to leave it, “I forgot about a paper I was supposed to do.”

May hummed, “Well, don't stay up too late.”

Peter smiled and nodded, “Okay.”

May let a little smirk creep onto her face and retreated.

“Love you, May,” Peter called after her and grinned at the mumbled reply through the wood.

Now. Back to business.

Peter clicked on the surveillance icon towards the top of the list.

The sight that greeted him was not what he'd been expecting when he'd signed on.

Each thumbnail for the cameras displayed a different section of the cold metal structure. The top four were occupied cells where the former Avengers sat wasting away.

The blond guy who used the bow and arrows sat hunched over on the bed in his cell while Scott Lang tapped at the stool in his like it was a bongo drum. 

Peter promptly snagged his headphones from his bag in case there was audio.

There was and boy, was that drumming annoying when he clicked on the thumbnail. He would have clicked out again if he hadn't noticed the pattern.

With a few adjustments to the display, Peter managed to get all four cells and the monitor room camera up on his screen. 

The guards hadn't picked up on the pattern yet, but the wing guy nodded every once in a while when his slow pacing brought him near the glass. The longer the tapping went, the stormier the ex-paratrooper’s expression became. Peter looked at the last cell with a pang of guilt.

Wanda Maximoff was a shadow of the strong- admittedly terrifying-  young woman he'd seen at the airport. She sat, curled up in a ball in the back corner of her cell with her arms strapped firmly in place. Peter could see the dark circles under her eyes despite the distance of the camera.

Grunts of pain had him looking away from her cell to the monitor room again and he quickly put the security system on test in a split second decision that was probably going to come back to bite him in the ass.

Captain Rogers strode purposefully into the room.

Peter scrambled for his laptop keyboard and took control of one of the monitors to the Captain's left, opening up a text box over the footage it had previously displayed.

“Well, this is going to end in disaster,” He muttered and started to type.

**Hey, Brooklyn** popped up on the screen.

Captain Rogers didn't notice it at first but when he did, he glanced back at the monitor room camera and stepped closer to the computer screen, “ _ What the Hell?” _

**Need some help?** Peter typed instead of the reprimand for swearing he wanted to, because, honestly, he had no room to talk.

Captain Rogers tugged the computer's keyboard closer to the edge of the security desk and started typing a reply.

Peter huffed, “You know I can hear you, right?” He propped his head up on his elbow to wait for the former soldier to finish typing.

**What do you have in mind?**

Evidently not, “You're adorable,” Peter mused and straightened back up in his chair.

**I knock out the doors and show you where to go. There are at least twenty guards on the roster.**

Cap moved to type again but Peter beat him to it.

**Just talk. Cameras have audio.**

“ _ Oh _ ,” Captain Rogers straightened back up to his full height, “ _ How do I know I can trust you?” _

Peter narrowed his eyes in thought. There wasn't really a way to prove it aside from the fact that Peter hadn't set off the alarms yet. Oh! Got it.

**You know who I am.** He hit backspace with a shake of his head.  **You could guess, anyway. I'd be in a lot of trouble if they caught you.**

Captain Rogers nodded, “ _ Fair enough. How do I get to the cell block?” _

Peter shifted his chair over to look at the desk top computer with the security system from Stark Industries still pulled up. There was a set of schematics for device placement. “There we go.”

One click and drag later, Captain Rogers was looking at the plans as well.

Peter clicked through the footage of the halls to see where the guards were.

**Five in the rec room two levels down. Two by the cells. One inside, one in the hall. Path to the stairs is clear for now.**

The Captain nodded and backed away from the monitors, “ _ Got it. One last thing. Why are you doing this?” _

Peter frowned. Why was he asking this now? They didn't have time for this.

**Focus. Your window for the stairs is closing.**

Cap glanced at the monitors and reluctantly left the room.

Peter switched the monitor room camera out with each hall view as Cap passed it and switched the accessibility to the stairwell door.

Captain Rogers opened it and slipped inside seconds before the guards came through on their circuit of that floor.

Peter hoped Captain Rogers had thought to close the door when he'd left. Quickly deleting the text box, he switched the screen back to live feed of Scott Lang’s cell and relinquished control of the monitor to the unconscious security guards.

Captain Rogers was at the last door before the cell block, the hall guard was lying in a crumpled heap off to the side.

Peter grimaced, “Jeez, dude. He's still alive, right?” He grumbled as he switched the settings on the door with a few clicks and it slid open.

Captain Rogers slipped through and grabbed the next guard in a sleeper hold.

“I'm going to go with yes and if it turns out otherwise, we are going to have words,” Peter told the computer screen firmly. He was tempted to try to hack the PA in one of the cells but he was risking exposure with the doors as it was.

Captain Rogers lowered the guard to the floor and stalked towards the semicircle of cells. The wing guy was already peering out of his cell with a grin and Mr. Lang had finally stopped drumming (thank God). Hawkeye stood the second the light from the wing guy's cell hit Captain Rogers’ face.

“ _ On your left,” _ Captain Rogers said. Peter could hear the grin.

The wing guy threw his hands up in the air, “ _ Oh my God! You did not just break in here to say that!” _

Peter raised an eyebrow but started looking for the release for the cells.

“ _ What, you want me to leave?” _ Captain Rogers asked but even Peter could tell he was joking.

“ _ Well, How do you plan on getting us out?” _ Hawkeye asked.

_ “I know a guy,” _ Captain Rogers shrugged.

Peter scoffed and hit the door release for Hawkeye's cell, “Right. You know me so well.”

The archer looked at the rising bars and glass in disbelief, “ _ Some guy.” _

Peter opened miss Maximoff’s cell next then Mr. Lang's.

Hawkeye went straight for her the second the gate started rising and Mr. Lang quickly joined him.

“ _ So, this guy have a name?” _ Wing guy asked right as his door started opening.

Peter glanced up from his work to see the Captain's reaction and was surprised when all the blond did was shrug, “ _ Didn't ask.” _

Peter smiled and noted that Hawkeye and Mr. Lang had Miss Maximoff up and out of her cell. She was visibly shaking and leaning into Hawkeye just to stay upright, but she was standing.

Peter kind of wished he was there so he could do more but he wasn't so he closed the doors in the hopes they'd get the message. They needed to get a move on. 

Unfortunately, no amount of hacking could stop the guards from hitting the panic button- or the lock down button- whatever it was called. He didn't know.

Yellow lights flashed across the screen and the alarm blared.

Peter swore under his breath and tried to head off the signal before any Stark Industries employee could get a hold of it.

“ _ This part of the plan?” _ Someone- Hawkeye asked.

“ _ They must've checked the monitor room,” _ Captain Rogers replied.

“ _ Damnit! The door’s locked _ ,” That was probably the winged dude.

“ _ Queens? You there?” _

Peter looked back from the flashing notice to see them crowded around the only exit, trapped.

The remaining thirteen guards would be there in a few minutes.

Peter opened up the controls for the door again, “Of all the extracurricular activities I could be doing,” he muttered and the door slid aside, “I just had to pick this one.”

Captain Rogers lead the others past the stairwell he'd come down.

Peter frowned, subconsciously leaning towards the screen, “No, no, no. What're you doing?”

“ _ The stairs are going to be full of guards,”  _  Captain Rogers explained as they ran with Mr. Lang and Hawkeye flanking Miss Maximoff in the rear.

“ _ Queens, I need you to get into the elevator.” _

“That's not part of the security system,” Peter retorted but looked for it anyway, “Oh. Lock down. Duh.”

Peter had the elevator doors unlocked and sliding open by the time they reached it. He closed the doors the second they'd all clambered inside and glanced at the other camera views to see where the remaining thirteen guards were, “Congratulations. You've taken your first steps towards running around in circles for the next five hours,” he said as six guards entered the stairwell from either end. Two were checking over the downed security guards in the monitor room.

Peter locked the elevator between floors to buy time and hacked back into the monitors. Neither guard spotted the camera views swapping for different parts of the facility. 

He promptly unlocked the elevator again and swapped views on his own screen so he could see the Avengers creep out into the deserted hallway.

The other guards had cleared this floor already and now the monitor room wouldn't show it.

Peter glanced at the Raft security account to make sure it was still on test and grinned. It was which meant no one would be calling Secretary Ross any time soon which meant Peter could mess with security, “Too bad there aren't any fire trucks in the Atlantic.”

A few keystrokes had the fire alarm screaming.

The guards in the monitor room went scrambling, the closest one to the door bolting for the hall while the other tried to make contact over his earpiece.

Peter smirked and switched his attention back to the other cameras. He found them in the hangar after a few seconds of flicking through footage.

Captain Rogers was dragging the last of three guards away from a running helicopter. Peter squinted but couldn't see who the pilot was.

Wing dude shouted over the alarms but Peter couldn't make it out over all the noise.

Captain Rogers trotted back towards the chopper and probably yelled back but, again, noise. Some idiot had stuck a strobe horn right next to the camera.

The top hatch for the Raft opened, dropping several hundred gallons of water on their heads in a rain like deluge.

Peter made sure they'd gotten out before going back through and erasing all the evidence of his tampering. A good chunk of the video feed had also suddenly become irreparably corrupted somehow. Darn salt water.

Peter then made sure no records of the alarms or test were on the Stark Industries service page before closing out of the system and shutting down his computers. He unplugged the desktop for good measure because he was not having Aunt May find out that he wasn't really doing homework from the police knocking on their door. That would be a nightmare. He'd go in and change his IP addresses later. Right now, it was time for bed- after he finished his hot chocolate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salt water eats copper.  
> With what Peter did, Ross wouldn't get a call until the staff onboard cleared everything. This would take several hours. Ross would then likely try to figure out why the security company didn't call. It usually takes a good forty five minutes to get to an operator. With this happening around midnight, the guards probably wouldn't be able to call until around six. The security company doesn't receive calls until around ten (which is stupid and annoying). It would probably take the operator tech a good four or five hours to decide he or she had no idea what went wrong (because recommending a call to the higher ups is like screaming 'fire me' at the top of your lungs). At this point, Ross would give in and call Tony who was not right next to his phone due to helping Rhodes with the new leg braces.  
> He gets the call roughly around five o' clock.  
> I also had it happen this way because Steve doesn't do computers and mail takes time to get places.  
> Also, yes, T'Challa was responsible for the chopper.


	6. Setting a Snare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Witching hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your input on the last chapter, guys! :)  
> This is taking place at roughly the same time as Peter's little digital field trip.

Elsewhere, Adrian Toomes shifted the assortment of discarded parts and broken technology in his arms as he shouldered his way into the old radio shop. His flight suit balanced him out, the majority of it sitting folded down to look like a large metal backpack over his coat, “What've you got for me, doc?” He called into the room.

Something small crashed in another part of the shop, "Nothing yet!"

Adrian followed it and dumped his supplies on the closest free space.

A portly middle aged man with shoulder length hair and a dirty blond beard, wearing the set of thick goggles looked up from the sparking metal contraption. A smile broke out across his face as he flipped the eye protection up, “Oh, good. You're back. Could you grab that plating for me?”

Adrian looked at the floor where the tech was pointing and grabbed the mess of wires and terrifying metal, “The others back yet?”

Phineas shrugged and shook his head, “No, but they might not be. Police just picked up a group of four guys from the ATM off twelfth."

“Shit,” Toomes hissed, turning away slightly. Going after them would be next to impossible- not without collecting a significant body count. They needed more hands. A jailbreak could work, “Got anything to get them out once they're sentenced?”

“Nope,” Phineas replied without looking up from his soldering, “What we'd use will have to depend on where the cops take ‘em and how much money we can get together to make the break out worth the effort for anyone we recruit. Our biggest problem will be keeping them out once we get to that point.”

Adrian nodded, “The Avengers.”

Phineas scoffed, “The Avengers are finished and they never paid attention to us before. I meant the new guy: Spider-Man. He's really started picking people off. You should hear the scanner.”

Adrian hummed and turned back to his scraps, “He's not that tough.”

“I'm telling you, Toomes, don't underestimate him. We can't afford to get sloppy now. He catches us, and we're finished,” The inventor warned.

Adrian stopped as a glint of gold caught in the fluorescent overheads. He tugged at the chunk of metal and eyed the dented and cracked Iron Man faceplate as an idea began to form in his mind, “That's okay. I think I’ve got just the thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so short. I added it once I realized we hadn't really heard from the villains in five chapters. The next one will be longer and shouldn't take too long.  
> Yes, I am aware of why they work together in the comics. No, I am not bringing that explosively homicidal maniac into this even though the rate at which electrical engineers resort to crime in this universe is laughable.


	7. Promises Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan Lee cameo.  
> Peter meets with Mr. Stank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. I illustrated part of the last chapter with Peter in it and I was trying to post it with this chapter. I'll keep trying. I found my crayons.

[Picture can be seen here](http://ch3sh1r3katt.deviantart.com/art/A-Turning-of-Tides-680599313)

Peter was a jittering mess by the time Happy dropped him off in the driveway of the compound. He had taken every precaution against getting caught- hadn't he? Oh, God. He'd hacked SI from his apartment! He hadn't even bounced the signal off any other routers! Shit! He was so dead.

“Excuse me,” A gravely voice sounded from in front of him right around the same instant his spidey-sense buzzed low in his skull.

Peter jumped anyway and stepped to the side so the Fedex guy could get to the back of his truck and close it up.

"People have the weirdest names nowadays," the guy was muttering.

Peter wasn't paying much attention to it.

He was overreacting. Tony hadn't called to cancel their plans. He couldn't know… could he?

Peter shook his head and slipped inside the glass doors.

The room he'd entered was a combination of a gym and living room.

Hand bars ran parallel with the wall Peter had just passed through and there was weight lifting equipment on their other end. Colonel Rhodes was sitting across from Vision on one of the couches on the other side of the room.

The door hissing closed behind Peter alerted them treacherously to his presence and he would have probably shot it a glare if both Avengers hadn't looked at him.

Peter hunched his shoulders and offered a weak smile and wave, “Hi.”

Colonel Rhodes smirked, “Hey, Peter. What're you doing here?”

The teen shoved his hand in the pockets of his sweatshirt with a single shouldered shrug, “I came to see Mr. Stark- to talk about the grant- my project. My project for the grant. He wants to know my progress.”

Vision was looking at him like he was calculating how long it would take Peter to implode.

Colonel Rhodes nodded, “His office is upstairs to the left of the elevator.”

Rhodey watched in amusement as the kid's face lit up with a grin and he darted from the room with a quick, “thank you!” Tossed over his shoulder. The vet shook his head and turned back to face Vision.

The man was staring at the space where Peter had left contemplatively.

“He came by the tower a few days ago. He's a good kid,” Rhodey put in, mostly to remind Vision there was still another person in the room.

His green gaze flicked back to Rhodes then focused on the chessboard, “He was nervous.”

“Well, he doesn't really know us,” Rhodes pointed out.

 

In the end, it was an amused Friday reporting that Secretary Ross was calling that told Peter where to find Mr. Stark.

Peter came in right as Mr. Stark said to put him through.

The teen froze as the billionaire glanced his way and smirked.

“Tony, we have a problem,” Secretary Ross started.

“Ah! Please hold,” Mr. Stark chirped with a finger raised like he was silencing the man on the other end of the line.

“No,” Ross said in a tone Peter had heard adults use while correcting small children, “Tony, don't-”

Mr. Stark's finger hit the button.

Peter shifted uncomfortably on his feet as the billionaire propped his head up on one hand to watch the line blink with a happy sigh, “Gosh, that never gets old,” Mr. Stark grinned and turned in his seat, snagging a black prepaid phone off his desk, “So, Mr. Parker, how's the suit?”

Peter blinked, “Um. It's good- it's- yeah, it's good.”

“Really?” Mr. Stark asked with one eyebrow quirked upward, “You're not just saying that?”

“No, it's great,” Peter assured him.

“Nothing you want to add?” Mr Stark prodded.

The teen ducked his head, “Well, maybe making it fire resistant would help a little bit.”

Mr. Stark nodded, “Very practical.”

“That's it, really,” Peter shrugged and winced as the action pulled at his side, “Was anyone hurt?”

Mr. Stark's eyebrows climbed towards his hairline, “In what?”

“The break in,” Peter elaborated, “Friday said there was something called The Raft right before I walked in.”

Stark nodded slowly, “Oh, that. I don't know. Should probably check. Hold that thought,” He hit the button next to the blinking hold light, “Yes, dear.”

“Tony, don't put me on hold again,” The Secretary of State warned.

“I was in a meeting- am still in a meeting, actually,” Mr. Stark turned towards Peter conscientiously, “We're still in a meeting, aren't we?”

Peter straightened, “Uh, Yes- yeah we're in a-” the teen cleared his throat, “We're in a meeting.”

“Well, cancel it. We have a serious problem here,” Ross grumbled.

Mr. Stark cast Peter a glance that was clearly intended to be a sarcastic ‘you see what I have to deal with here?’, “So inconsiderate.”

“Rogers bypassed the security system- _your_ security system and released the former Avengers,” Ross said instead of commenting.

Mr. Stark was leaning forward with his chin in one hand again, “That _is_ vexing. Captain America has finally entered the digital age. Somebody better warn the terrorists.”

“Tony, this is serious,” Ross chastised, “These people are dangerous.”

Peter was starting to wonder why he'd thought these two got along.

“Oh, definitely,” Mr. Stark agreed, though he didn't sound serious at all, “Any casualties? Injuries? Fatalities?”

The phone was silent for almost a full minute, “One sprained ankle and a few dislocated shoulders.”

Mr. Stark straightened back up in his chair, “Yes, well. That sounds very perilous. We'll get right on that.”

“You mean you don't know where they are?” Ross asked incredulously.

“Well, obviously not. I thought they were all hidden away in your super secret bath tub,” Mr. Stark replied smoothly, “Have a nice day.”

“No, wait-”

The line disconnected and Mr. Stark turned back to Peter, “No casualties. Not bad for someone over ninety, don't you think?”

Peter nodded, “Not bad at all- good, even.”

Mr. Stark smirked, “So, what're we working on today?”

Peter shifted on his feet, “Actually, Mr. Stark, I need to tell you-”

“Boss, Secretary Ross is calling again,” Friday interrupted.

“Put him through to Pepper,” Mr. Stark replied quickly and pointed the flip phone at Peter, “You were saying?”

“Uh- I think somebody's replicated your repulsor technology,” The teen stammered. He continued at the inventor’s raised eyebrow, “They blasted a hole through a car into a convenience store.”

“Did you get a hold of what they used?” Mr. Stark asked.

Peter shook his head, “No, I didn't see them, just the blast and the store catching fire.”

That earned a curious look from the billionaire, “What'd they hit?”

“Car oil from the auto care section,” Peter replied, “Whatever they used  was hot enough to ignite it. It went up pretty quick- quickly. Pretty quickly. I, uh- nobody died, that I know of. I think the car might've belonged to one of the people inside.”

“Mhmm. People you got out, I assume,” Mr. Stark goaded.

“Yeah,” Peter replied quickly, “Yes, I got them out.”

“Good,” Mr. Stark said, leaning back in his chair, “Friday, see what you can dig up on the guy who set the fire.”

“Yes, Boss,” Friday intoned.

Mr. Stark clapped his hands together despite the phone still held in one of them, “So, any other concerns, complaints, or questions before we get started?”

Peter shrugged gingerly, “There was a really weird burglary. The guys cut open an ATM with a laser.”

Mr. Stark narrowed his eyes and twirled the flip phone in his hands, “A laser.”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, “It looked like the beam a death star fires but purple… and smaller.”

“Death star,” Mr. Stark repeated.

Peter nodded again, “Yeah.”

“And that would be from…” the billionaire prodded.

“Star Wars,” Peter replied hesitantly.

Mr. Stark nodded, “We’re going to need broaden your horizons a bit there, Patrick. Particularly in anything from the last decade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony made a Sponge Bob reference because I too need to broaden the horizons of my pop culture knowledge.  
> Next chapter should be up within the next day or so... And probably longer. Definitely longer.  
> I hope you liked it.


	8. In Every Way That Counts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated mother's day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this is not the chapter I was talking about.

May Parker was an incredibly patient woman. On the more trying days Peter would jokingly refer to her as a saint.

While her nephew wasn't present at the moment, May had a feeling as she looked down at the red and blue fabric in her hands that today could easily be one of those days.

Ben's death had been hard on both of them and May would be lying if she said she wasn't a little scared to let him out of her sight. Hell, even before that, after the incident with the Westcott kid, The only thing keeping Peter out of home school had been Ben.

The point was: Peter _had_ been keeping secrets from her. Big secrets. May wasn't too sure she liked Tony anymore. They were definitely going to be having a long involved discussion about taking her nephew out of the country without her permission.

She was still considering how she should talk to her nephew. She'd seen the videos. Peter's super hero worshipper friend, Ned, had made sure of that. She'd seen what her nephew could do and she couldn't be more proud… or terrified. At the same time, a lot of Peter's actions made much more sense. The first sightings of Spider-Man had occurred six months ago, right after Ben died. Peter had started coming home with bruises that he would just brush off around then. He'd seemed more tired and stressed.

May had put it down to high school and grief but if he was running- _swinging_ around saving people…

May shook her head and tossed the costume on Peter's bed before pulling out the remaining clothes in his hamper.

She and Ben had raised him since he was seven. Peter was as much May's son as he was Mary’s. May just wanted him to be safe.

Something hard fell out of the bundle of clothing in May's hands and bounced off her foot before skirting across the floor. The sound dragged her from her thoughts enough to look for the source of the noise.

A vial of white liquid lay on the faux wood floor at the edge of Peter's bed.

May sighed. She couldn't take this away from him. He'd been Spider-Man for six months without her knowing. He would likely figure out a way around her and she wasn't about to turn him into the police.

May squashed the spider suit down in the back of her nephew's closet and took her hamper out into the hall. Peter wouldn't be home for another thirty minutes. That meant she could confront Tony while the laundry cycle started. There were some questions he needed to answer.

 

Peter twirled his house keys on his finger anxiously. Mr. Stark had acted really weird after that last phone call. He wouldn't say who it was either even though Peter already knew.

The man had gone into full shutdown mode and tried to switch topics. Eventually Peter had let him, but that didn't mean the teen didn't want to know what Aunt May had said that could rile Tony Stark up to the point of nervous fidgeting.

It hadn't gotten any better when Peter asked about becoming an avenger- though he hadn't expected it to.

His key clicked in the lock and he carefully pushed his way inside, “May? I'm home.”

His aunt didn't respond and he didn't see her.

Peter frowned. The washer was running so she was home. He wasn't aloud to touch laundry after the “Captain America pajamas" incident. Personally, He thought that was a little extreme. It's not like he was incapable of learning. It had happened _once!_

Peter shook his head, “May?” he called more loudly, not bothering to disguise the hint of worry creeping into his tone.

That was when he heard it.

The hitch of breath just masked by the running washer.

Peter dropped his bag in the entrance to the hall and made a b line for his aunt's door.

Aunt May was crying. May was _crying_ , phone dangling forgotten in one hand, while she sat on Uncle Ben's side of the bed.

Peter was across the room and wrapping his arms around her shoulders before she even registered he was there.

May choked on a sob but he could tell she was trying to reign in her tears with him present.

Peter lightly rubbed at the back of one of her shoulders- something she'd used to calm _him_ down before, “It's okay to cry, Aunt May.”

She choked on another sob and wrapped her arms around his middle.

Peter rubbed her shoulder again instead of freaking out like he wanted to because sweet cheese and crackers Aunt May was crying and she hasn't done that since- since Uncle Ben's funeral.

May was probably one of the strongest people he knew- Captain America included, though he shouldn't really count. If she was crying, something was very, very wrong.

He waited until she was mostly just sniffling and his sweater was completely soaked through before gently asking, “Wanna talk about it?”

May shook her head and sniffed wetly, “Just a really, really long day,” She replied, straightening to give him a weary smile.

Peter returned it tentatively and shifted so he was sitting beside her on the bed.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” She asked after several beats of just the washer running in the hall.

Peter nodded, “Yeah. You too.”

May imitated his action and wrapped him in a light side hug.

Peter made sure he returned it, “May?”

His aunt hummed to show she was listening.

“I love you,” He said, another habit they'd- or rather _he'd_ \- picked up since their family of three was cut down to two.

His aunt squeezed his side gently, “Love you too, Pete.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May's reactions (the crying) are loosely based off of a talk I had with my mom once because I imagine finding out your surrogate kid is similarly alarming to finding out one of your kids is deliberately hurting themselves to alleviate stress.  
> If Captain America ever meets May Parker there'd better be someone else there. Steve from Brooklyn may not survive.  
> Skip Westcott is the skum of the Earth and skill never see the light of day in my fics.


	9. Walking Man's Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The former Avengers settle into their new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. That was more than a day. This was hard to write.

Steve sighed for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour. After escaping the Raft via a chopper flown by T'Challa, himself, Clint had taken charge. He'd dragged them to an old warehouse where their current small metal prison had been squirreled away, rusting in a corner- figuratively. It wasn't actually rusty. In fact, there wasn't so much as a speck of dust on the old deep purple Chevy Nova.

Clint had ushered them all inside with a passing, “Don't touch anything.”

After several years of working with SHIELD, Steve knew better than to ignore the command.

So it was that Steve found himself cornered in the passenger seat of the vehicle while Clint drove and the other three peppered him with questions- although, admittedly, that was mostly Sam and Scott. Wanda hadn't said a word for nearly thirty minutes.

Steve could see her staring out Scott's window with the same expression she'd worn for weeks after losing Pietro. Vision had been the most successful at getting through to her that time.

Sam and Scott were leaving her alone for now, giving her space and the chance to open up on her own.

“So, Why Brooklyn?” Sam asked, breaking Steve from his thoughts.

“I've got a safe house there,” Clint replied, “It's completely off SHIELD’s records and the Tin Can doesn't know about it, so it should hold us over for a while.”

“But why Brooklyn?”Scott echoed, “Shouldn't we be as far from Stark and Ross as possible?”

“Every intelligence agency on the planet is looking for us. Where would you suggest we hide?” Clint asked.

“Wakanda,” Sam shrugged, “The royal cat guy isn't looking for us.”

“But he helped me get you guys out,” Steve intervened before Barton could make any comments about ‘cat guys’, “I just broke into a military facility in the middle of the Atlantic ocean after king T'Challa landed a helicopter on it, and Bucky wasn't with me according to the footage,” Steve replied, “Trust me. He's not going to look here. Plus, our distance from Wakanda means we can draw their attention away from T'Challa..”

“And Bucky,” Sam added in a more accepting tone.

“And Bucky,” Steve agreed somberly, feeling, not for the first time, a pang of grief for his best friend. He'd only just gotten Bucky back.

He sat there for several tense moments, waiting for one of them to come up some sort of retort or alternate destination but both men seemed to accept his explanation and the safe house had been Clint's idea to begin with. It was far enough away from the archer’s family that they could settle without alerting Tony or Ross to their presence but close enough that Clint could go help his family if he needed to. It also happened to be close enough for Steve to follow through on his promise to Tony, should the engineer ever call.

“So what's the plan now?” Sam asked finally.

Steve watched their surroundings go from the taller commercial buildings to the slightly shorter apartments and condos while he considered his options, “We lie low for now, get settled in, then see what we can do to fix this mess.”

“Let's just hope Spider-Man doesn't recognize any of us on a grocery run,” Clint said in a poor attempt at a joking tone.

Scott leaned forward between the two front seats to get a better look at the archer's face, “Who?”

“The guy that tripped you,” Clint elaborated, “He showed up about six months ago. Sticks to Queens mostly, but we're right on the border between Queens and Brooklyn.”

“And again, I ask,” Scott started incredulously, “ _Why?”_

Clint shrugged, “The police hate him almost exclusively. I figured they'd be less likely to look our way.”

Steve saw Sam's head swivel from the archer to him, “I knew he was from Queens. That's it. He told me at the airport,” He said before the ex-paratrooper could open his mouth.

“Just don't look up when you're on the street and you should be fine,” Clint added, pulling into a parking spot on the side of the road.

“No one looks up,” Scott griped, climbing out of the car.

Steve followed suit, stepping onto the sidewalk to stretch his sore muscles.

Sam and Scott had started arguing about groceries and how horror movie rules should not apply (Sam's opinion) to getting them.

Neither noticed that Wanda hadn't joined them on the street.

One look inside showed the teen still staring through the back of the passenger seat.

“Cap,” Clint called, still by the driver's side door.

Steve straightened in time to see Barton incline his head towards the closest stairwell entrance.

“Second floor on the left. We'll follow you up.”

Steve nodded and ushered Scott and Sam towards the stairs while Clint circled around to the rear car door facing the sidewalk.

“... And it's just not practical to-”

“Hey, where's Wanda?” Scott interrupted, craning his neck so he could see around Steve but the blond steered him on with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Clint is getting her,” Steve replied and gave Sam a light shove towards the door when he turned around too, “They need a minute.”

Sam seemed to accept this more readily than Scott, turning back to the entrance without further prompting.

Scott was still trying to see around Steve, “Is she okay?”

The blond shifted aside enough for Scott to get a glimpse of Clint crouched in front of the teen before frog marching him towards the apartment building, “She'll be fine. Barton's got her covered.”

“Are you sure? He doesn't seem all that…” Scott made a vague gesture that really didn't elaborate on what he meant at all.

“He's the one with the most experience in handling her,” Steve replied, “I'm sure.”

 

Clint was trying really hard not to just reach into the car and hug Wanda right now.

The teen was sitting all huddled up in the middle of the back seat, staring into space like she could find all the answers to their problems there. The sight made Clint want to go back to the prison and slug a few more of the guards.

The facts were, after being told she was a freak and a monster and losing her brother she'd managed to find some semblance of a home with the Avengers only to lose it to the Accords.

Then Ross’ band of overzealous trigger happy assholes just had to take it one step further on the Raft.

The second Clint, Sam, Scott, and Wanda had come into contact with the nut jobs, said nut jobs had trained every gun on the premises, not on the former SHIELD agent with a rap sheet that made Fury’s background checks look like magazines, not the former paratrooper and soldier, not even the cat burglar- though, personally, Clint wouldn't have worried about Scott without his suit either- No, they'd- in their infinite wisdom- aimed their guns at the defeated, already cooperating, _seventeen year old_ girl. One twitch from her at the sight of the restraints they planned to put her in and they'd hit her with about half a dozen stun guns.

Then they'd learned very quickly who they should have been aiming at.

Clint really wanted to go for round two right now- preferably with his bow… which was broken… and in Germany.

Damnit.

Wanda had yet to verbally respond to anything he'd said and she flinched if he moved too fast. She'd been a good half a foot closer before he'd opened the car door.

If he were to guess, Clint would blame the silence on the shock collar the guards had slapped around her neck like she was some kind of animal. They'd gotten it off, but being unable to talk without someone hurting you, typically left a lasting impression.

“Wanda?” He called softly, hoping for any kind of reaction.

Her grip on Nat’s black sweats tightened minutely.

Clint took it as a win and continued in the same tone, “You with me yet? It's fine if you're not. What you went through was pretty rough.”

Her fingers gradually relaxed the longer he talked.

“You don't have to be okay just because the situation is over,” Clint continued quietly, watching her for any visual queues that he should stop, “If you need help picking up the pieces, that's fine too. We'll help you. That's what we're here for.”

Wanda swallowed convulsively and nodded before looking at him for the first time since they were captured.

Clint gave her a reassuring smile and straightened in his crouch, “You ready to go in, or do you need a minute?”

“I'm ready to go in,” she rasped.

Clint only caught a bit of the second word in his hearing aids.The rest, He read off her lips.

The archer nodded and got to his feet, careful to keep the movements slow and predictable while she climbed out of the car.

Wanda stuck close to his side after he closed and locked the car, “You know that I know you have my back, right?”

Clint smiled and lead the way to the apartment building, “Yeah, but sometimes you just need to hear it.”

  


Steve was thinking, going through all of the steps they would each need to take to remain hidden while Clint unlocked the door.

It was for this reason that he only noticed one Natasha Romanoff sitting in the living room when everyone (except Clint) went as taught as a tripwire.

Natasha was sitting in a kitchen chair that she'd obviously dragged over to the coffee table with one leg crossed over the other and the smug smile of the cat that caught the canary, “It's about time you showed up.”

Clint huffed and walked right on in, heading straight for the kitchen, “You better not have eaten all the peanut butter.”

“You were expecting us?” Sam asked with a warning tone. He was understandably still weary of her despite Steve explaining her change of heart on the ride from the prison.

Natasha tilted her head to the side, calculating, “It was more of an educated guess than actual expectation. Barton hates long drives,” she looked over her shoulder into the kitchen entry, “And you didn't have any peanut butter when I got here.”

Steve frowned at Clint's hissed swear but didn't comment, “Why are you here?”

The redhead turned back around, “To let you know that Ross didn't get any video footage of your escape. All he has are witness accounts and a few minor injuries to back up his claims. Someone tampered with the data in the camera system. I assume that wasn't you.”

Steve stepped into the apartment and shifted to the left of the door so the others could come in as well, “No, I didn't mess with the monitor room beyond finding the cells.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, “Well, whoever it was managed to get past Stark's firewalls, and AI without raising any red flags. Have you been making friends behind my back?”

Steve pointedly ignored the looks from Sam, Scott and Wanda, “It was just for the one time, Nat. I didn't get his name, motive, or anything.”

“But you know who it was,” Natasha replied certainly as Sam and Scott seemed to realize that they were standing out in the open during all of this.

Steve waited for the door to close behind them before responding, “I have an idea, yes.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” Wanda asked quietly.

Steve shrugged, “It’s not my secret to tell. I didn't know he'd be able to wipe the footage either. If I'd told you, they would have it on record and Ross would've had Tony bring him in.”

“Okay, but you could've told us afterwards,” Scott pointed out.

“It doesn't matter anyway,” Natasha intervened, saving Steve from having to respond, “Your guy covered his tracks. There's no record of a break in, or alarms outside of the call to Secretary Ross from the guards. Ross’ people don't have anything to trace. They're still trying to find out what set the _fire alarm_ system off.”

Steve quirked a brow at the amused smirk playing across her lips, “I take it you’ve had better luck?”

“I have inklings,” Natasha shrugged, “theories that I'd like to chase down-”

“But nothing concrete,” Sam finished.

“No,” she replied in a deceptively calm tone, “But I haven't started looking yet.”

Sam nodded.

“So,” Scott said awkwardly, “Are you sticking around then?”

Natasha raised a slim eyebrow, “For a few days. I'm waiting on news for a few things. I may as well make sure Barton isn't planning on buying seven tubs of peanut butter again.”

“Gee, thanks, mom. I didn't know you cared,” The archer griped, coming back into the room with a bag of chips and a chocolate bar.

He handed the chocolate bar off to Wanda before plopping down on the end of the couch closest to Natasha with the chips.

“So, how have you been?” Steve asked in a vain attempt at ignoring Scott and Sam quietly cajoling Wanda towards the couch.

Natasha shrugged, “Not bad. The compound wasn't too difficult to get away from. Tony's got Rhodey on a light physical therapy schedule,” she said, the last bit directed at Sam.

Steve frowned, “What happened to Rhodes?”

“Vision accidentally hit him trying to get to me,” Sam replied, “Knocked out the arch reactor in his chest plate. The g-forces from spinning in the fall messed him up pretty bad.”

“Oh,” Steve murmured, imagining how Tony must have felt.

The room temperature seemed to drop and Steve heard the tell tale rattle of a train car-

“Well, this just became incredibly depressing,” Scott said.

Steve rolled his shoulders to get rid of the ghosting chill.

“Bathroom?” Scott asked.

Clint pointed across the room to the other doorway and said something through a mouthful of chips.

Natasha stood in as translator, “Down the hall to the right.”

The brunet nodded and left the room with a, “thanks,” tossed over his shoulder.

“We should probably work out where we're going to sleep,” Sam said after several beats of Barton’s chip bag crackling and chips crunching.

“My bedroom’s the first on the left. Wanda can bunk with me,” Natasha offered while Clint swallowed his mouthful of chips with a grimace.

“I've got two sleeping bags and extra sheets in my room,” The archer put in.

“Wait, so this place is your apartment- as in you live here?” Sam asked.

The former shield agents exchanged a look and Natasha quirked an eyebrow at the ex-paratrooper, “Yes,” They both replied and Natasha stole Clint's chips.

The archer immediately protested, trying to grab for them but she just moved them further away, “I'm going to go get Chinese. You can sort out who's sleeping with Clint and who gets the couch in the meantime. Text me what Lang wants when he gets out,” She stood and handed the bag to Steve as she passed, “Don't let him fill up on junk food.”

Clint let out a snort and leaned back into the couch in defeat.

“I’ll take the couch,” Steve said after the door had closed again. The chill crawled back up his spine despite the warmth of the room, “I'm going to go get some air.”

Clint nodded, “Fire escape is through my bedroom if you wanna use it.”

Steve crossed the room with a passing thanks and ducked through the door with the purple arrow stickers plastered all over the white painted wood.

The room beyond was only slightly cleaner than the door. The bed covers were crumpled on one side and a number of comic and ASL learning books littered the floor among a few piles of clothes.

Steve carefully stepped around them to get to the window and unlock it.

The breeze out on the fire escape was warm and a bit stronger than he'd grown used to, standing on the roof of the compound. It brought the chill back full force.

Steve sat down and balled his hands into fists instead of grabbing the railing so he wouldn't bend the metal.

The wall dug into his back _and he found his shield out of reach in a moment of panic as the hydra agent's weapons charging filled the air._

_Steve looked towards the gaping hole in the side of the train only to see Bucky pick up his shield and draw a gun._

_The brunet got off two shots before the hydra agent fired again._

_Steve screamed something-his name- No- he wasn't sure. It didn't matter. The next thing he knew, the agent was down and he was leaning out the side of the train car with a mixture of terror and relief as he tried to reach his friend._

_Now Steve felt dread mingling with the other emotions. He knew what came next._

_The piece of railing Bucky had been clinging to broke off and Steve tried to lunge for him but the metal just slipped through his fingers._

_Bucky fell, screams echoing off the mountainside._

Steve drew in a steadying breath and scrubbed the moisture from his eyes. Bucky was alive. He was very far from okay, but he was alive.

“Mind if I join you?”

Steve looked up from the roof of the building across the street to see Clint poking his head out of the window.

The super soldier shrugged, “It's your fire escape.”

“True,” Clint agreed and climbed out, “Sam and Scott are talking to Wanda. Nat still isn't back.”

Steve nodded absently and turned his gaze back to the street below.

The street was mostly empty aside from the cars parallel parked on either side. Three story brick apartment buildings dotted the block between a few narrow houses that had probably been there since the early sixties.

“Good to be back?” Clint prodded.

A glance showed he was watching the old soldier with concern.

“A lot's changed,” Steve replied. He wasn't sure that was a good thing but Clint's worried expression had him forcing a smile, “But, yeah, it's good to be back.”

Clint's smile was much more genuine, “Glad to hear it.”

Several birds shot past the men in a twittering blur as they chased each other through the air and both men looked away to follow their progress.

“The first time… I lost him, I watched him fall to what I _thought_ was his death,” Steve said after several moments of silence.

He saw Clint shift in his peripheral vision.

“Now, he's gone again,” Steve continued, “and I can't help but wonder if maybe he was right. Maybe this wasn't worth it.”

Clint straightened like he was going to protest but Steve met his gaze to stop him.

“If I had cooperated, brought Bucky in to begin with when Zemo made him break out, He could have been restrained or put back on ice like he wanted and none of you would need to hide from the law. Rhodes wouldn't have gotten hurt-”

“That's a load of crap and you know it,” Clint interrupted, “Ross wouldn't have put Barnes on ice. He wanted him dead. He's too scared of what we can do. This, the accords and Barnes was just an excuse to justify locking us up. I'm surprised he hasn't gotten Stark yet.”

“I could've-”

“No,” Clint said, “You don't know that you could've changed anything. Even if you could've, you can't now. Everyone made their own choices- except for Barnes, but that was part of the problem in the first place.”

Steve was just staring at the archer now, at a loss for words.

Clint nodded decisively, “That's all I got. Any other problems I should know about?”

Steve shook his head with a small smile, “No, that's about it.”

“Good,” The archer replied, shuffling around so he could crawl back through the window, “If Nat isn't back in ten, I'm ordering pizza,”he added and promptly ducked back inside with the bag of chips Steve had inadvertently stolen.

Steve leaned over to peer into the window, “We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile,” He called to Clint's retreating back.

The archer waved him off, “Relax. I’ve got it covered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The arrow stickers on Clint's door were Natasha's doing.  
> Nat's door has a warning about what black widows do to their mates in retaliation.  
> I am including Hawkeye's hearing aids from the comics because I think it's important that the characters are relatable and there aren't that many deaf superheroes running around.  
> Disclaimer:  
> The views and language (mostly just the language) with which Hawkeye expresses those views are not necessarily held by the author.


	10. Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After school in a bedroom far far away...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that was a Star Wars reference, no, I'm not explaining the title. It's a spoiler.

Peter swooped down to his window when he was sure the coast was clear and slid the top of the window open. He paused as his spidey-sense let out a low buzz at the base of his skull but didn't see anyone when he looked so he climbed on in through the top of the window and closed it with his foot.

Home sweet home.

Peter tugged off his mask and tossed it in the general direction of his desk to crawl across the ceiling.

He could hear Aunt May moving around the kitchen but, with the door open, all she had to do was look around the corner and he'd be busted.

Peter webbed the door and gently pulled it closed before dropping quietly to the floor with a satisfied grin.

The smile dropped when he turned around and found a shocked Ned Leeds sitting on his bed with their most current Star Wars related project.

Peter froze, drawing a blank on anything except for sheer panic and the fact that he was utterly screwed.

The Lego Death Star slipped from Ned's fingers and crashed to the floor.

“What was that?” Aunt May called.

“Dah,” Peter spun on his heel, half expecting her to burst in on them, “Nothing! It was nothing!”

“You're the Spider-Man,” Ned breathed in over joyed awe. If Peter hadn't outgrown the unsuppressable urge to facepalm… _Why_ had he taken off his mask?!

“From YouTube,” Ned added excitedly as if Peter really needed the clarification.

The addition did manage to remind Peter that he was still wearing the suit, though, “No,” He quickly hit the emblem and shrugged out of the loosened fabric, “No, I'm not. This is just a costume-”

“You were on the _ceiling!_ ” Ned hissed. Still excited, maybe a little frustrated that Peter was still trying to hide his alter ego. Oh, man, this was so bad.

Peter kicked his suit under his desk in case aunt May came in and grabbed the shirt he'd draped over his desk chair, moving towards his bed so May wouldn't overhear, “No, I- Ned-”

“Okay,” Peter breathed in a vain attempt to calm himself because _holy shiitake mushrooms_ was he about to be in so much trouble, “Okay, yes, I’m Spider-man, but Ned, you’ve got to keep it a secret.”

“Why do I have to-”

“Because you know what she’s like! If she found out people try to kill me every night, she’d never let me do this!” Peter yelled quietly- whisper yelled- ranted? Not the point. Ned was talking. Crap.

“-I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep this a secret,” Ned was saying, “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”

Peter stepped away running his hands up and over his scalp in worried frustration, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” He muttered, mostly to himself.

His Aunt’s footsteps sounded in the hall and he swore under his breath, diving for his suit to get it further out of sight. He vaguely noticed Ned grabbing something off his desk as he stuffed the suit under the bed.

Peter jumped back to his feet only to catch a pair of his sweats before they could smack him in the face. Right. Boxers. He pulled the pants on while Ned sat down to start picking up the Death Star and Peter had just crouched to join him when May opened the door.

Both boys looked up with feigned innocence and bits of broken imperial base in their hands.

May looked between them with suspicious amusement, “What’re you boys doing in here?”

Peter lifted up the few chunks of rooms he’d managed to gather in the point five seconds before she’d come in, “Ned dropped it.”

“Hey!” The teen protested halfheartedly.

“Sort of- _we_ dropped it,” Peter amended.

May raised an eyebrow and smirked, “alright. As long as you didn’t set anything on fire.”

Peter frowned and he could see Ned gaping at her from the corner of his eye, “N-no, no fire. Why would we do that?” Peter asked.

May huffed a laugh with a fond roll of her eyes and retreated back to the hall, “Why, indeed.”

Peter and Ned exchanged a wide-eyed look before both boys let out a sigh of relief.

“I thought she’d got us for sure,” Ned laughed.

Peter found himself grinning and nodding in agreement, “Yeah, that was close.”

“Why does she think she needs a fire extinguisher every time we drop something and she’s not in the room?” Ned asked after several moments of reassembling the broken battle station.

Peter paused, super laser for the Death Star in hand, “Probably the exploding egg experiment… Or that time we set a bowl of sand and sugar on fire to see what would happen.”

“We were supervised for that,” Ned objected.

“Alcohol jet engine in a glass jar,” Peter replied.

Ned winced, “okay, That one was a super bad idea.”

It was. The jar had exploded and there had still been rubbing alcohol in it so the base had been on fire when aunt May ran in.

Needless to say, there was an extra fire extinguisher in Peter's closet for exactly this reason.

“I stuck your mask under the bed, by the way,” Ned commented.

Peter froze. He hadn't thought about the mask.

“When I sat down,” Ned added.

Peter nodded, “Thanks.”

Ned shrugged, “Hey, you'd do it for me.”

Peter grinned, “Yeah. Definitely.” Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

This was bad- _terrible,_ even… Or just moderately terrifying. He could be overreacting.

After Ned had gone home, Peter had eaten dinner with May before ducking back out his window for patrol- which had gone by with little incident. That is, if you didn’t include the completely random ‘I had nothing to do with it, Mr. Stark, I swear.’ level explosion of light that had just thrown him into some poor kids’ treehouse with a shorted suit.

He couldn't see, but he was pretty sure the whole thing came crashing down with him- that and some string lights. That was probably what was making it so hard to see. He was pretty sure he'd spotted a pup tent before the world had become a giant strobe light- _that_ would be his lenses acting up from the blast. Better at least make sure the pup tent was unharmed. He _knew_ the treehouse had been empty.

Who let their kids camp out back on a school night, anyway?

Peter levered himself up from the tangle of string lights that had probably been lit when he crashed into them. He couldn’t really tell if they were still lit with his lenses acting up but that was definitely a zipper coming undone from the direction of the pup tent.

Peter looked towards the sound and tried for a friendly smile even though they couldn’t see it. He couldn't see them either with his lenses twitching uncontrollably but he went for friendly anyway, “Oh, hey guys.”

He was met with a pair of ear-splitting, skull-cracking _shrieks._

They were not guys. They were _not_ guys and _holy_ mother of all things silent did they have a set of lungs. _Ow!_

He wasn’t sure if they were still screaming or if it was just his ears ringing.

He scrambled out of the lights and over to the fence to avoid finding out.

The sliding door to the girls’ house slid open and Peter hit the trigger for his webs.

The web-shooter let out a short pitiful whine and left him in a back yard with two screaming kids and a parent who was trying to yell at him over the girls. Guess that answered _that_ question.

Peter huffed and hopped the fence, cursing suburbia. Well, he was in trouble now, may as well see what caused it while his suit rebooted from being fried.

 

There was a brand new clearing in the trees and shrubbery he'd been swinging by before.

Peter kept well back from the edge.

Two guys were staring at the burnt patch of ground in shock.

The taller of the two was a Caucasian male, around six foot with an orange marshmallow vest over a green long sleeve shirt, and had a wispy red beard that went down to about mid chest.

The other guy was about four inches shorter,  African American, wearing just a long sleeve t-shirt and jeans- much more sensible for the warm weather, in Peter's opinion (though, honestly, who was he to judge?).

In the absence of their names, Peter decided to call them guys 1 and 2 respectively.

It was about that time that guy 2 unfroze from their daze and made a kind of happy, “Whoo!” Sound before giving guy 1 a high five that he had to jump for (guy 2 jumped, That is).

Peter was about to go in and talk to them about testing weapons of mass destruction on wildlife preserves (because he didn't know what else to call the overgrown patch beneath the overpass when guy 2 said, “Toomes is going to be real happy about this!”

Guy 1 agreed, “How long have they been trying to get this thing to work?”

Guy 2 shrugged as they started to move off towards a car parked a ways down the street, “‘bout a year. Didn't ask.”

Peter trailed behind, trying to be as quiet as possible. A few twigs still snapped under his boots but he was far enough away that guy 1 and 2 didn't notice.

 

The place they were heading for actually wasn't that far away from where they'd tested their weird EMP.

Guy 1 and 2’s can pulled into an almost empty parking garage some three miles down the road for some building. Peter would check to see what it was later.

For the moment, He just focused on keeping to the shadows on the ceiling.

Guys 1 and 2 didn't look up as they led Peter further into the building.

The teen was starting to worry the whole thing was some sort of trap when the space opened up into a larger room that was really two stories of what had been an office building before something huge had crashed through.

The room was bustling with activity and Peter had to duck quickly behind a ceiling light that was hanging halfway out of the ceiling so he wouldn't get caught.

“Jerry, get those guns in the containers the shipment needs to be in the ferry at three or the boss’ll have our asses,” Someone called.

“Yeah, Yeah. I got ’em,” ‘Jerry’ grumbled then added under his breath, “Why anyone wants to do a weapons deal in Staten is beyond me, though.”

Peter frowned and checked his surroundings before creeping back across the ceiling. He'd lost guys 1 and 2 among the thirty some other guys running around in the room but he had all the info he needed. He just had to get it to Mr. Stark and they could go get the guys tomorrow.

With that in mind, The teen slipped back into the nearly empty garage connected to the building.

Peter had almost made it out of the parking garage when something hard hit him in the back.

He dropped with a yelp but twisted mid air. He just managed to land in a defensive crouch facing guy 2.

The shorter African American man with the swept back hair looked thoroughly unimpressed and reloaded his- was that a _potato launcher_?!

Peter grimaced, “Hey. How's it hanging?”

Guy 2 shrugged, “Not bad. Could be better, could be worse. I could be getting caught snooping around where I'm not wanted, but that's you, so,” He raised the spud launcher.

“Woah! Woah!” Peter exclaimed, waving his arms frantically to show they were up and he was unarmed, “I like mashed potatoes as much as the next guy, but do you have to _shoot_ them at me? And where'd you even _get_ that, anyway?”

Guy 2 shrugged again and lowered the toober cannon of doom, “Ebay. You really need to work on sneaking around. I didn't even have to look up and I knew you were there.”

Peter nodded, “Duly noted. I'm adding stealth lessons to my calendar right next to the new low starch diet.”

“I don't think you're going to have much time for that,” Guy 2 commented.

“So, you're not going to let me go?” Peter asked, letting his shoulders drop in mock defeat. He wasn't in any actual danger here. He could probably just bolt and be fine. The spuds didn't feel good on impact, but they wouldn't break anything.

Guy 2 somehow managed to quirk an eyebrow without moving the rest of his face, “Seriously?”

Peter shrugged helplessly, “Just thought I'd ask,” He jumped up and dashed out of there, flipping theatrically when guy 2 fired another spud at him out of spite.

The teen shot off a web once he was clear of the building and tugged himself up into the air for the swing home.

 

Peter was two swings from home. He could see the light from his window up ahead like a beacon. He was already planning what he was going to do once he got inside. He hadn't made a video for Ben in a-

His spidey-sense shrieked. Peter twisted through the air without knowing what the threat was.

A huge shadow swooped across his vision as something clamped down on his leg.

Peter yelped as the street dropped away. He tried to fire a web off but line just trailed after them.

They were too high.

“Oh, God. Not good. _Not_ good,” He yelled, “Let me go!”

“ _Altitude one hundred twenty feet and climbing,_ ” his suit reported urgently.

Peter barely heard her over the wind ripping at him and the buzzing in his ears, “Please! Let go!”

“ _Two hundred twenty feet.”_

Peter twisted around to see if he could pry himself loose.

“ _Three hundred feet.”_

Metal talons dug into his leg while the wind tried to tear him from the massive _thing's_ grip.

“Let go!”

He could barely reach his knees. The rising panic clogging his throat wasn't helping.

_“Three hundred eighty feet.”_

“Letgoletgoletgo _let go!_ **_Please!_ ** ” He screamed, still clawing ineffectively at his leg.

“ _four hundred sixty feet.”_

The thing twisted mid air with a growl and Peter nearly choked.

“ _Five hundred forty feet.”_

Burning green eyes seared their way through the teen's mask.

“ _Activating parachute.”_

Wait. _What?!_

Something ripped him out of the vulture's vice grip on his leg.

Peter screamed.

The chute crumpled.

The lines were tangling.

He caught up with it and dropped past.

The lines were _tangling_.

What if it didn't open again?

_“Five hundred thirty feet.”_

**_Snap!_ **

Everything stopped.

Peter grimaced beneath his mask and squinted at the dotted lines of streets far below him. He was dropping much slower than before.

One glance up showed the parachute had successfully opened up again.

Oh, thank God.

“ _five hundred twenty five feet,”_ The suit said calmly _._

Peter slumped against the hidden straps in his suit with a sigh of relief. He was going to be okay.

The faint sparkling lights of the streets below were steadily growing bigger. He was going to make it.

An engine growled somewhere behind him, making his stomach sink into his boots with dread.

He'd forgotten the vulture.

The engines screamed until the sound was drilling through Peter's skull.

**_Snap!_ **

The city lights blurred.

“ **_Aaaaaah!_ ** ” Peter shot a web blindly at the last place he'd seen a glint of green and his fall jolted to a stinging, burning stop.

Peter forced himself to breath through the pain radiating up and down his arm and looked up at the only thing keeping him from falling to his death.

The vulture floated calmly above him, watching the teen with a cool air of indifference.

Peter could faintly make out the shape of a man in a metal harness at the thing's center- a man drawing a thick knife from a strap on his leg.

Peter's spidey-sense flared.

His heart tried to crawl up his throat.

The line trembled.

Peter _felt_ it snap.

He dropped like a stone.

“ _four hundred eighty feet.”_

Peter fired another line, but the webbing just arched uselessly through the air, “Waah! Parachute! Parachute!”

_“Parachute already deployed.”_

“Shit!” Peter yelled, trying to assume the spread eagle sky diving position.

“ _Swearing is not necessary,”_ the AI said dispassionately.

“Don't criticise my language while I'm falling to my death!” Peter snapped.

“ _Calling Sir,”_ The AI replied.

“That's not what I said!” Peter flapped his arms and yelped when the air suddenly caught under them and nearly tore them off, “What the hell?!”

“ _Four hundred feet.”_

Peter gritted his teeth and kept his arms out while the ground rushed up to meet him.

“ _Three hundred sixty feet.”_

His arms were starting to feel hollowed out. He wasn't going to be able to keep this up much longer.

“ _Three hundred feet.”_

The phone line in the suit trilled.

Peter grimaced. Right. It was still calling Mr. Stark.

“ _Two hundred sixty feet.”_

“Hang up,” Peter yelled around the wind and burning sensation in his arms.

“ _Command not recognized.”_

_“One hundred ninety feet.”_

“End call,” Peter tried because he was _not_ leaving Mr. Stark with the sound of him going splat on the pavement.

“ _Unable to comply,”_ The suit replied, “ _One hundred thirty feet.”_

Peter growled in frustration, “Why not?”

“ _command violates the Safety Net protocol. Eighty feet.”_

“Oh, shi-"

Peter hit gravel and tumbled head over heels for a good six yards before he flattened out and skidded another foot.

The phone line trilled.

Peter groaned and coughed. He hurt too much for this crap. He was also pretty sure his organs were in the wrong order now.

His stomach was hiding in his shoe, his heart was stubbornly sitting in his throat and his lungs were probably back on the other side of the roof.

At least Mr. Stark wouldn't hear him die. That was a plus.

The phone line clicking made Peter startle and immediately regret it when everything in his body screamed at him.

“ _You have reached the voicemail box of Tony Stark,”_ The suit said in Tony's prerecorded voice.

Peter groaned.

“ _I am currently otherwise occupied, but if the message is urgent, You may leave it with Miss Potts after the beep. Pepper say hi.”_

 _“Tony, I'm not your Secretary anymore,”_ A woman, probably Pepper said flatly.

Recording Tony said, “ _beep_ ,” anyway.

Tie fighter engines screamed overhead and the teen froze, clenching his jaw in an effort to minimize the movements breathing made.

The engines wound down and there was a clunk of the pilot landing before a series of metallic clicks and whirring.

Peter forced his muscles to relax. Maybe if he was still enough the vulture guy would assume he was dead and go away.

Keeping his breathing under control was becoming difficult.

Hurry _up!_

**_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Scrape._ **

Burning green eyes bored into Peter and he got the same nauseating sense that the pilot could see under his mask as before.

The pilot was crouched over Peter and tilted its head to the side curiously.

“ _End message. To listen to message, press one. To re-record message, press two…”_

Peter scrunched his eyes shut., praying that the pilot couldn't hear the answering machine.

They snapped open again when a firm- almost gentle- grip on his chin had his head turning towards the glowing green eyes again. The action made his neck feel like someone had lit a match under it and he had to clench his teeth tighter to keep quiet.

His lenses whirred. Peter's heart skipped a beat.

The pilot let out a metallic hum and turned Peter's head the other way.

The lenses whirred again, widening now that they weren't directed at light.

The pilot let go and there was a scrape of him getting back to his feet.

Peter forced himself to remain perfectly still, staring at the dead night sky while the pilot's footsteps crunched across the rooftop.

The wings’ engine roared and Peter couldn't help but flinch.

The teen held his breath, half expecting the vulture to yank him back into the sky again but the noise tapered off in the distance.

Peter lifted his head to check that the coast was clear and dropped it back to the roof with a relieved sigh, “Okay. That's good. Definitely good. Not watching Star Wars for a while, though. Sorry, Ned.”

 

Toomes swooped into the office building through the empty windows of the second floor and landed in the center of the first while his people moved out of the way. The wings flew up to the remains of the second floor as soon as he was out of them.

“Boss,” Donald called, stepping from behind one half of a Chitari chariot with his potato launcher slung over one shoulder, “Are we moving the meet time?”

“Nope,” Toomes replied, working his gloves off.

“But Spider-Man probably knows about it,” Lenny protested somewhere to Toomes’ left.

The engineer stuffed his gloves in one of the pockets of his aviator jacket and scanned the room for Phineas, “Just make sure you have the trucks ready to head out. I've got plans for Spider-Man.”

 

Peter climbed gingerly in through his window, sliding it closed with his foot before crawling to the opposite side of the room and dropping lightly to the floor. He paused, listening for any activity from his Aunt, but the only should was the deep breath of sleep coming from her room. That didn't sound creepy at all. Nope.

Peter shook his head and winced at the dull throb near the base of his neck before hobbling over to his closet for a set of pajamas.

The camcorder could wait for a few more minutes.

He tugged off his mask at the same time as he hit the spider emblem on his chest and sighed when the pressure was suddenly relieved from the bruises all over his back. He almost didn't want to put a shirt on but if they were still there by morning and Aunt May saw, she'd probably freak out.

Peter snagged one of his old science shirts from his closet and gingerly pulled on a pair of plaid pajama pants.

This done, he grabbed the camcorder off of his desk and sank onto his bed.

The camcorder beeped when he turned it on and hit record.

He gave it a tired smile, “Hey, Uncle Ben. Sorry, I haven't made you one of these in a while. It's been a busy week- but you probably knew that. Ned found out about me today. I guess this whole secret identity thing was harder than I thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Experiments can be found on the home science YouTube channel.  
> Don't try the jet engine one. It really does explode... And get glass shards everywhere.  
> EVERYWHERE.


	11. The Devil's Advocate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could swear this was longer.

Clint did  _ not _ order pizza. Natasha, ever the clairvoyant spider-mom, had called when they'd forgotten to ask Scott what he'd wanted from Hing Wong. Clint had made the mistake of being the one to answer and she'd immediately forbade him from ordering a pizza. He would have been irritated if he hadn't actually been planning to do it.

Therefore; Clint was having a perfectly acceptable imitation of sweet ’n sour chicken. Nat had begrudgingly bought it for him as an ‘I'm glad you're out of prison and you didn't buy that god awful pizza you like’ thing and he was going to enjoy every ounce of sickly sweet, gooey goodness of it even if Sam thought it was going to give him diabetes and Scott thought it looked like mutated snails. They could have their kung pao chicken and whatever that omelette thing Steve was eating. He was getting something with  _ flavor _ after that bland prison crap. At least he hasn't ordered _ chicken wings _ from a freaking  _ Chinese _ restaurant like Sam had. Scott had ordered beef lo mein in a panic and was eyeing Sam's dinner with a mixture of jealousy and awe.

They should have probably explained the menu first. Clint was pretty sure he still had one stashed on top of the fridge.

At least Wanda and Steve hadn't said anything- though Wanda was mostly due to the fact that she was really focused on her Szechuan shrimp and Steve looked like he _ wanted _ to say something but was being polite.

Clint was contemplating starting the age old trekkie- Star Wars argument just so there would be some sound outside of people eating and criticising his diet when  _ The Devil Went Down to Georgia _ started playing in the kitchen where he'd plugged in his spare phone.

“What the hell is that?” Sam asked in disgust.

Clint stabbed his plastic fork into a slimy lump of chicken and rocked to his feet, “That's a friend. Stark doesn't have the number to trace it,” he added over his shoulder to fend off the impending lecture. 

He unplugged the device and answered it without looking at the caller ID, “Yeah.”

_ “I need your help,” _ came the winded reply.

Clint let his shoulders sag and he leaned against the kitchen counter while he worked through all of the scenarios that would entail _ Daredevil _ asking for his help. There weren't very many and none of them were good. He might need back up on this one.Matt was involved. He was almost definitely going to need help on this one, “What kind of help?”

“ _ There's a group trafficking weapons and people out of Hell's kitchen. I've tracked them as far as the Brooklyn bridge, but I don't know the area and I've had trouble with this particular group in the past,”  _ Matt explained.

Clint slumped a little more into the counter in resignation, “It’s the Russians again,” The archer guessed. It was starting to become their thing, teaming up to take on the Russian mob every week or so. Usually it happened in Hell's kitchen, though.

The line was silent for a minute, “ _ It's the Russians,” _ Matt confirmed.

“Damnit, Matt-” Clint cut himself off as Cap leaned into the kitchen with a concerned face that would put kicked puppies to shame, “Is everything okay?”

Damn super hearing.

Clint nodded and straightened to grab his jacket off one of the kitchen chairs, “Do you need me to pick you up, or am I meeting you?”

“ _ Meeting. I'm a mile South of the Brooklyn bridge, heading South East.” _

Clint nodded along even though he knew Matt couldn't see and made his way towards his room, “I'll be there in a bit and I'm bringing backup.”

“ _ Natasha _ ?”

Clint glanced over his shoulder at Nat and Cap.

“Does he have it handled?” Nat asked nonchalantly, much to the bemusement of the two men who _ couldn't _ hear both sides of the phone call.

Clint made a ‘so, so’ gesture with his hand.

Nat shrugged and stabbed her pile of noodles with her chopsticks, “Steve can go.”

“Not Nat,” Clint said into the phone, grabbing a set of night sticks from the hall closet. His bow would be too conspicuous at this point and guns would draw too much attention. 

A grunt and scuffle on the other end signaled the vigilante’s change between roofs, “ _ Who then?” _

Clint swapped one of his hearing aides out for a special bluetooth com link Coulson had gotten him and linked it up with his phone before syncing another and holding it up for Steve, “You coming, Cap?”

“ _ You're joking. _ ”

Steve glanced around the room before meeting Clint's gaze with a determined nod.

“I am not,” Clint replied and tossed the other comm to Steve.

The crackle of him catching it made Clint wince.

Matt hissed something the archer didn't quite catch with the other noises in his ear.

“So, refresh, here,” Scott said. He even raised his hand. How cute, “ _ What's _ going on?”

Clint stuffed his phone in the pocket of his leather coat and shrugged it on before zipping the pocket, “Cap and I are going out.”

Steve drew even with him and they went for the door.

“We'll be back later,” Steve called over his shoulder and shut the door behind them.

 

Scott blinked while Black Widow resumed eating her beef lo mein as if nothing happened, “Well,  _ that _ was informative.”

 

“Matt, You still there?” Clint asked as they descended the stairs.

“ _ I smell the docks. I'm going to be running out of buildings soon. Hurry up.” _

Clint jumped the last three stairs and yanked open the exit door, keys in hand, “Yes, would've worked just fine.”

_ “Yes,” _ Matt deadpanned.

“Who’s this guy?” Steve asked, sliding into Nova’s passenger seat at the same time Clint got in the driver's.

“ _ No one special,” _ Matt replied.

Clint snorted, starting the car, and pulled away from the sidewalk, “The papers call him the Devil of Hell's kitchen. Nat and I usually go with Daredevil or Matt, though. Your pick.”

“ _ Thank you, Clint,”  _ Matt said irritably right before another round of shuffling, “ _ I always wanted to reveal my identity to new people. It's not like it's secret or anything.” _

Clint took a left with a scoff, “Who's he going to tell?”

“Guys, focus,” Steve intervened, “Daredevil, What do you see?”

Well,  _ this _ was going to be fun.

“ _ They're keeping to a south easterly direction. I'm starting to smell plant life,” _ Matt replied, “ _ More than your average tree in the sidewalk, a park, maybe?” _

Clint ignored the confused look Steve shot his way in favour of turning left onto Linden Blv, “Have they been going straight since they got off the ramp for the bridge?”

“ _ No, they shifted more south a minute ago,” _ Matt replied.

“Can you tell us what kind of car they were driving?” Cap asked.

Clint put a little more pressure on the gas. The guys Matt was tailing would be near Prospect Park soon if the lawyer's directions were right.

“ _ It's,”  _ Matt's paused to breath and probably listen to the car's engine, “ _ Older, maybe five to ten years. Needs a tune up. They've got enough product the engine's struggling slightly.” _

_ “ _ Clunky?” Clint put in.

“ _ Smells like old fast food and carbide,” _ Matt agreed.

That narrowed it down to about five vehicles. Most of the Ranshkahovs’ goons were health nuts (in Clint's professional opinion) and kept their cars in top condition.

“Have they turned to go around Prospect Park yet?” Clint asked.

Matt hesitated and this time Clint knew he was listening, “ _ they turned right. They're not slowing down.” _

“That's a yes.” Clint turned into Caton Ave. And kept as straight as the curving road would allow.

“How close are you to the park?” Steve asked.

“ _ Buildings across the street,” _ Matt huffed and the comm crackled with wind for a minute, “ _ They're keeping to the road around the park.” _

“Well, we're about five minutes out,” Clint replied, “If they stop, don't go starting any fights without us. I'm not explaining that to Claire.”

“You _ won't have to,” _ Matt pointed out sullenly.

“No,” Clint agreed, “But I'll have to deal with Tasha.”

“Guys, focus. Do you still have a good view of the car?” Steve asked.

“ _ I haven't lost it yet, if that's what you mean,” _ Matt said cautiously.

Clint zipped around the corner onto Coney Island Ave. “He's trying to get a better description so we know it when we see it. Did you recognize the driver?”

“ _ It was the one that smelled like menthols,”  _ Matt said, “ _ You’ve called him pine tree a few times. _ ”

Clint grimaced. Bogdahn. That meant Vladimir. Shit, “Oh. We're looking for a maroon 1995 Ford Fiesta. You owe me dinner for this.”

“Why couldn't _ he _ tell me that?” Steve asked.

Clint shrugged and did a completely illegal u-turn, “Should I tell him or do you want to?” He pulled Nova off to the side and hit the hazard lights.

“ _ I don't see how it matters,” _ Matt replied innocently, “ _ And you know I don't make that kind of money.” _

“He can't se-” Clint scowled, “I hate you.”

“ _ I'm right on their tail, closing in on your location,” _ Matt said.

Wind crackled through their headsets, making both men cringe.

Clint unlocked the doors right as the maroon Ford Fiesta drove past, “Roger that.”

“What were you saying?” Steve asked.

“Matt's legally blind,” Clint said and switched off the hazards.

Daredevil clambered into the backseat a split second later.

Clint pulled out into traffic thirty yards and one ancient looking Volvo behind the Fiesta.

Steve was watching their new passenger wearily.

Understandable. It was the Devil, after all.

“Steven Rogers?” Daredevil asked reaching a hand between the front seats to shake Cap's hand.

Steve hesitantly accepted the gesture, “Just Steve.”

Clint saw Matt nod in the rearview mirror, “It's good to finally meet you, Steve. Clint and Natasha speak very highly of you. I'm Matt, as you probably guessed.”

Steve nodded, “Nice to meet you too.”

Matt was smiling which really shouldn't be something someone does when they're dressed as the Devil.

It was creepy. And he wasn't sure if the fact that Matt was a lawyer made it more creepy or just ironic.

Clint frowned out the windshield and tried not to think about the fact that Matt was also messing with Captain America- which was bound to backfire horribly at some point.

Clint knew Cap was uncomfortable because he knew him.  _ Matt _ knew Cap was uncomfortable because he could hear the super soldier's heartbeat.

Damn super hearing.

“So, is this your first time in Brooklyn?” Steve asked.

“Second,” Matt smiled again.

Clint turned left onto Ditmas Ave, “No, It's not. You came down for Nat's birthday.”

“You abducted me,” Matt corrected, “It doesn't count.”

“I picked you up,” Clint retorted.

“Bursting into one's work place and growling ‘come with me if you want to live’ is not ‘picking me up’,” Matt countered. He actually did the growling voice too. Clint would have laughed if he wasn't being made fun of in front of Captain America during a car chase- well, more light justified stalking than an actual car chase. Pine tree didn't know they were here yet.

Steve cast a stern glance his way.

Clint veered right onto Ocean Avenue, making his passengers grab for the handholds on the roof of the car in alarm. He heard Matt thunk into the window with a muttered curse. Cap was two focused on the road to reprimand him.

Clint straightened the car out with a tiny smirk and turned right onto Avenue K then left onto 19th. He never claimed to be mature.

“What’re you doing? They didn’t turn,” Steve asked in disbelief.

“Matt, roll down the back window and see if you can hear their car,” Clint said instead of answering while keeping an eye on the Fiesta through the glimpses he got when they passed between houses.

“We don't want them to get wise to us following them,” The archer elaborated while Daredevil rolled down his window.

Steve nodded in the passenger seat.

“You two might want to swap info about your abilities before we jump these guys,” Clint added, “You'll collaborate better that way.”

“I already know about his,” Matt said absently, head tilted towards the window, “My legal partners follow your work almost religiously. It's a little disturbing.”

This from the lawyer in the Devil costume.

Steve pursed his lips, “Right.”

Clint considered letting him wallow in discomfort for about four seconds, “Matt's trained in boxing and mixed martial arts and his other four senses are heightened. His hearing’s probably better than yours.”

Steve nodded again.

“I smell saltwater,” Matt commented.

Clint maneuvered them carefully back onto Ocean Ave. There wasn't much up ahead except for a few seaside restaurants and a fancy-shmancy hotel. Clint grimaced, “If they came all this way for room service, I'm going to be pissed.”

“With a car load of guns?” Steve asked skeptically.

The fiesta pulled of the road into the parking lot of some Turkish place Clint had never been to. The archer passed it and went to the clan shack next door.

“Shouldn't we park closer?” Steve asked.

Clint eased into a space and threw the car into park, “Too conspicuous and I'm not having my car get shot just because Captain America couldn't do a little cardio.”

Matt scoffed, “Really? With how you drive?”

Clint rolled out of the car rather than reply and shut the door.

“I'm never making fun of Natasha's driving again,” Steve commented.

Matt made a vague sound of agreement- or maybe he was trying not to be sick. Clint couldn't really see him.

“You want me to drive like a normal human being, don't mock my marvelous social skills _ while _ I'm driving,” Clint replied and threw his jacket over the car.

Matt straightened, helmet gone, cowl tucked away, zipping the leather jacket over his suit, “Get social skills and maybe I won't mock them.”

“Guys,” Steve interrupted.

Matt stripped off his gloves and stuffed them in the pocket that didn't have Clint's phone inside.

“Got it. Cap, you're the least conspicuous. Get a seat in their restaurant. We'll be over here on the patio,” Clint said, jerking a thumb at the clam shack, “Maybe one of us can pick something up.”

Steve nodded and they split off.

Clint made sure he and Matt got seated outside under the string lights, choosing to ignore the coy grin the hostess kept flashing them.

“Is there a reason she was smiling that much?” Matt asked after several moments of silence.

Clint shrugged and picked up a menu, “Apparently we're on a date.”

Matt raised an eyebrow.

“ _ Well, you two  _ do  _ argue like an old married couple,” _ Steve mused.

Clint lowered his menu with a frown directed over Matt's shoulder, “Oh, shut up, Rogers. Don't even get me started on you and Stark.”

Both Matt's eyebrows were climbing towards his hairline now.

Clint flicked his menu back up, “And besides, Matt's a good little Catholic boy. He wouldn't know what to do with me.”

Matt snorted.

“ _ Hello. Are you waiting on anyone?”  _ The hostess at the Turkish place asked.

“ _ Oh, No. Just me _ ,” Steve replied with forced cheer.

Matt winced, “Is he always that bad?”

Clint shook his head, knowing Matt would hear it, “Rough week. I'll explain later. Wanna share some onion rings with me?”

Matt grimaced, “I can't handle that much grease. I'm surprised  _ you _ can.”

The archer shrugged and looked over the menu again, “I've had worse.”

Clint glanced at the other group of men around his menu, pointedly ignoring Cap being seated inside near the door, “I hope you brought cash.”

“I don't carry money in the suit,” Matt replied innocently.

“ _ I haven't used a credit card since 1942,”  _ Cap murmured, flipping through the menu, “ _ I have cash.” _

Clint's lips twitched in a smirk, “Wh-"

“Shh!” Matt interrupted.

Clint’s mouth snapped shut and he leaned forward to get a better look at the men across the way. They were too far to read their lips, but he could still see the defensive shift in good old Vladdie’s shoulders. Boghdan looked a little nervous.

“ _ Our guy was late. The suit says the man to his left is named Adrian Toomes. Our Russian friend is named Vladimir. He didn't introduce the other guy,” _ Steve narrated.

The suit, the guy in the bomber jacket (Toomes), and Vladimir sat down, leaving Boghdan standing behind his boss like those old time Mafiosos from the movies Tasha liked to make fun of.

“Don't worry about him, Cap. We've crossed hairs before. He's small fry,” Clint replied, “Who's the suit?”

Matt tilted his head to the side curiously.

“ _ He didn't say _ ,” Steve answered, “ _ Vladimir seems to know him _ .”

“James Wesley,” Matt supplied, “He tried to hire us a few days ago. Never found out his employer.”

The Toomes guy started gesturing vaguely while he talked.

“ _ Whoever he is, they're trying to supply our guy with more advanced weapons,” _ Steve said.

Matt nodded, “Specifically to deal with us.”

“At least we know they care,” Clint mused sarcastically as Vladimir nodded.

“Vladimir can't do anything without talking to his brother, though,” Matt tacked on.

“ _ He's trying to set up a meet for tomorrow,”  _ Cap said.

Toomes shook his head, leaning back in his chair.

Matt nodded, “Toomes has other plans… he has a shipment going out tomorrow. Sounds like he's expecting interference.”

Clint raised an eyebrow, “From who?”

“ _ Spider-Man,”  _ Steve answered.

“Vladimir just offered to help,” Matt frowned. With good reason.

He only did that to people he respected. How the hell had this guy earned his respect this fast?

Toomes pulled out his phone like it had started ringing.

Clint watched Matt scowl as the Toomes guy stood.

“He's leaving to go after Spider-Man,” The Devil said quietly.

Clint raised an eyebrow, “Not that I'm a fan of the guy right now, but why?”

“He broke into where Toomes is manufacturing his weapons,” Matt replied, “He knows about the weapons shipment.”

_ “We can't let Toomes leave,” _ Steve chimed in.

Matt swiftly stood and disappeared around the side of the clam shack.

Clint slapped a ten on the table and followed, “Cap, You might wanna hang back. This guy recognizes you and we're toast.”

“ _ Just worry about stopping him _ ,”Cap said grimly.

Awe, Hell.

Clint charged around the front of the other restaurant, barely noticing the shadow that was Daredevil slipping along at his side with the devil helmet back on.

An engine whined and a guy in a huge set of metal wings shot up into the air right as the two men rounded the corner. Just in time to see Captain America nearly face plant into the front parking lot. 

Matt chucked one of his night sticks after Toomes but it arched harmlessly through the air and landed somewhere in the sand on the other side of the parking lot.

The glow of Toomes’ wings quickly faded into the night sky.

“Shit. Anyone know Spider-Man’s phone number?” Clint asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Steve didn't really go clubbing once Bucky spotted out with the 107th. While, the United States did promptly join the war after Peal Harbour was attacked (Dec. 7, 1941), it takes time to mobilize that many people.


	12. The Way of Bananas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bandanas float. Split ones... Eh.  
> Cap makes friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being so patient with me, guys. You're all amazing and your suggestions have been really helpful.  
> Hope you enjoy the chapter!  
> :)

“Do you have Captain America's phone number?” Ned whispered across the table.

Peter’s gaze snapped up in alarm only for him to relax a second later when he realized Michelle had wandered off to some hidden corner of the library.

The brunet sighed in a mixture of exasperation and relief, “No, I don't have his number. Just Mr. Stark's.”

“Oh,” Ned actually looked disappointed.

“I met him at the airport,” Peter tacked on so he felt like less of a jerk for letting Ned down, “Mr. Stark's the only one I actually got to talk to outside of witty banter.”

Someone snorted to their immediate right and Michelle sat back down next to Ned with her binder and a book on women's suffrage, “The day you partake in witty banter is the day I get a social life.”

Peter's jaw dropped as he went to protest and realized every example he could use would expose his secret identity, “I- I thought you already had a social life,” he choked out instead.

Ned's eyes widened to the size of golf balls and he clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the triumphant, “Oh,” that slipped out.

Michelle opened up her binder without looking up, “You two don't count.”

Need immediately frowned, “Hey, why not? We're social.”

**_Vvv._ **

Peter missed her response to check his phone.

**2:05**

**Mr. Stark:**

_Need to talk to you. Swing by the tower._

Peter frowned and started to get up. What could he want to talk about?

“Hey, where are you going?” Michelle asked.

Peter froze, glancing at Ned for assistance and finding none. He slowly pointed over his shoulder uncertainly.

Michelle shifted in her seat lacing her fingers together, “What are you hiding, Peter?” She asked calmly like she already knew the answer.

Peter opened his mouth to respond and closed it. Had Ned- No, He looked just as confused and freaked out as Peter felt.

Michelle smirked, “I'm just kidding. I don't really care. Bye.” She waved and went back to her binder.

Peter shook his head and brushed it off after a beat. If he got to the tower now, He could get Mr. Stark updated and they could still get to the ferry in time to stop the deal.

He just had to get there.

 

Steve discreetly used the action of turning the page in his book to check his watch and frowned. They'd split off last night with the promise to meet up at Prospect Park with whatever information they could pull up on Toomes before going after the deal. Hopefully this would prevent them from running into any more surprises.

14:30

The park they'd decided on was busy when compared to the few times he'd visited at night. There was a good twenty people just in the vicinity where he'd sat down. It made trying to locate one blind vigilante in civilian dress somewhat difficult, but they'd agreed to the spot and Clint was on standby back by the duck pond somewhere to the soldier's left. The only problem then was: Daredevil was late.

“Good book?” Someone- a woman- asked from in front of Steve.

The blond's head snapped up to the brunette’s face and deep brown eyes crinkled around the edges as she smiled amicably, “Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

Steve shook his head, “No, that's alright. I was supposed to be paying attention anyway.”

“Waiting for someone?” She asked lightly.

Steve smiled uncomfortably, “Yeah. He was supposed to show up thirty minutes ago.”

The woman nodded and adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, “Mind if I keep you company while you wait?”

Steve debated whether or not that would be wise for a full second before shifting over for her.

The woman grinned and held out a hand for him to shake, “May Parker.”

Steve carefully took it, “Steve.”

The woman- May- nodded slowly like she was fitting puzzle pieces together but she didn't ask for his last name as she sat down.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” May smiled.

This time it was Steve's turn to nod, “Nice to meet you too, ma'am.”

“You wouldn't happen to be from here by any chance, would you?” She asked.

Steve hesitated, trying to decide which answer would be a better cover. He settled for the truth. Nat said he was a terrible liar. This wasn't the enlistment office anyway, “Brooklyn born and raised.”

Her lips quirked like she'd just won a bet, “Queens. My nephew's a big fan.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth. He tilted his head to the side, “I don't- I'm not-”

The woman's smirk broadened.

Damn.They didn't have anywhere to go after this.

“I'd recommend changing your appearance more than a hat and sunglasses,” May said earnestly.

Steve gave her a strained smile and hoped this whole thing hadn't been a set up.

Steve was so focused on not looking at Clint to make sure they weren't completely blown that he almost missed May's concerned frown.

“What is it?” He asked wearily, craning his neck to see what had her so worried. He only caught a flash of red between two buildings and the usual bustle of the city.

 

Peter yanked on his web line and sailed through the air. He was almost at the ferry. He was going to go fight a whole bunch of guys with strange high tech weapons and possibly a guy in a vulture costume with no back up and strict instructions to stay out of it on a floating box full of people. No pressure.

Who was he kidding? This was going to suck even if he did make it out in one piece.

Mr. Stark had just wanted to lecture him about leaving recorded messages of Star Wars with his AI. It hadn't helped when Peter had explained the growling noise and tried to tell him about the weapons drop. Now Mr. Stark just thought he needed a babysitter.

This babysitter coming in the form of the AI in his suit. An AI that couldn't fight or restrain a fly let alone people.

Peter landed on the top guardrail on the rear of the ferry right as it was taking off.

Several crew members startled at his abrupt entrance.

Peter waved awkwardly, “Hey, guys.”

Great. Now he just had to find Toomes’ goons… hah.

 

3:00

Steve was getting worried at this point. Hell, _May_ was and she didn't even know Matt.

May Parker had turned out to be much better company than he'd expected. She'd suggested multiple ways he and the others could change their appearances, where they could get cheap cloths and food, and she'd even added a few things for his list.

 _Casablanca, From Russia With Love (James Bond_ whatever _that_ was), and _The Pink Panther,_ to name a few.

Conversation aside, Daredevil hadn't really struck Steve as a flake. Something was definitely wrong.

“Sorry I'm late,” A male voice said. One look down the jogging tail showed the owner to be an average height Caucasian male with dark brown hair. Every inch of him screamed lawyer from his neat blue suit to his shiny black shoes. Everything, that is, except the dark round shades he wore.

“I got caught up at the office,” Matthew Murdock offered Steve a pinched smile and released the arm of the woman he'd come with.

 _She_ was only about an inch or so shorter with light brown skin, black hair, and a nervous smile that clearly said Steve was not who she'd been expecting.

“Steve Rogers, meet Claire Temple,” Matt said as calmly as when he'd first arrived.

Steve nodded, getting to his feet to shake her hand. So _this_ was Claire, “Call me Steve. Nice to meet you, ma'am.”

Claire accepted the shake with a firm grip and a confused glance at May Parker who was trying and failing to hide a smirk, “It's just Claire. Nice to meet you too.”

“So, who's your friend?” Matt asked.

Claire elbowed him in the side, “That's May Parker. I told you i was meeting her here, remember? May, this is Matt.”

May grinned, giving Steve the distinct impression that she'd already known who Claire was introducing, “Nice to meet you, Matt,” she said anyway, rising to stand next to Claire.

Matt inclined his head with another polite smile, “Same to you.”

“Call me when you're done. I'll drive you back,” Claire called over her shoulder as the women started walking away.

Steve say back down on the bench and Matt joined him, “So, What have you found out?”

“There are two meets,” Matt started.

 

Peter dropped from the top deck with a slow flip and snagged two of the guys with his webbing, “The illegal weapons ferry was at 2:30,” he called loudly and yanked the two guys together, “You missed it!”

They crashed into each other and flopped over like a pair of dead fish while their buddies tried to rush Peter.

The teen quickly sidestepped a wild swing from one, webbing one of the guy's feet to the deck, “Not bad.”

The other tried to grab him, but Peter ducked, “If you wanted a hug, you could've asked.”

The guy spun and tried again.

Peter twisted to the side and tripped one of the fishy twins in the same move, “Jeez, you're like an evil teddy bear. I'm gonna call you Lotso.”

Lotso switched gears and tried to punch Peter in the face.

Peter webbed his hand and yanked down, “Use your words.”

He webbed the guy's hand to the deck.

“Get over here, You little punk!” The punchy guy from earlier spat, still trying to pull the webbing off his foot, “I'll show _you_ how to use words.”

Peter frowned, “Did he just call me a _punk_ ?” He asked Lotso who just glared angrily up at him. Peter turned his gaze on Punchy, “ _Rude!_ ”

Punchy flipped him the bird.

“Okay, that's uncalled for,” Peter started, fully prepared to give a lecture or at least a few more smart remarks.

“ _Freeze!”_ Someone yelled overhead.

Peter tensed at the sound of half a dozen safeties being turned off. Well, _that_ was unexpected.

“Hands in the air!” Someone else called.

Peter complied, carefully lifting his head just enough to see two suits- probably FBI- two cops (from the ferry), and a pair of men in loose navy blue jackets.

Boy, had he really stepped in it, “Officers-”

Metal shrieked over the muffled boom of a car door being ripped in half.

Peter jumped and looked back right about the same time his spidey-sense screeched.

Peter tackled Punchy to the ground and the air turned purple.

“Shit!” Someone yelled over a whole bunch of other someones.

An engine roared and something woodshed overhead.

Peter looked up, “What the hell?”

The Vulture guy was aiming this weird glowing cannon thing directly at him.

“Shit,” Peter agreed with Punchy and yanked the guy off the deck to throw him out of the way before ducking himself.

Punchy screamed and the beam hit the deck harmlessly.

“Sorry!” Peter yelled and shot a web at the cannon but hit vulture guy's wing when he moved instead.

As a result, the pilot's next shot went wide and one of the officers yelped up top.

“Put down the gun or we’ll required to use deadly force!” An officer shouted.

The cannon whined and Peter fired another web at it. The thunk of webbing against metal had never been so sweet.

He wrenched the cannon out of Vulture guy's grip.

“You're gonna wish you didn't do that,” Vulture guy growled- or at least it sounded like a growl. He could just be- _Holy-_

A beam of purple shot off the cannon, barely missing the fish twins.

The officers on the second deck yelled.

“Shit!” Peter hissed, firing another line of webbing at the thing.

“ _Language,”_ The Suit Lady commented.

He really needed to figure out what to call her.

Peter yelped as the cannon-gun-thing burned through his webbing again and nearly hit his shoulder, “What the hell is this thing?!”

“Boss, you've gotta stop it!” Lotso yelled.

The webbing split and carved a black swath right down the middle of the deck.

Peter quickly stumbled out of the way, shooting the fish twins with a line to move them too.

The Vulture's wings screamed.

 _“The weapon’s systems are overloading,”_ Suit lady warned, “ _recommend evacuation of immediate area.”_

“Can't do that,” Peter breathed, trying to drown the cannon in webs.

It was starting to whine like one of Mr Stark's repulsors. That couldn't be good.

He could dump it in the water, but there was no way of knowing if the bay would be able to absorb enough of the blast- or any of it.

“Boss!” One of the henchmen screamed.

Peter glanced up only to see the retreating dot of Vulture guy flying towards Staten Island. It was only a second.

But it only _took_ a second for everything to go sideways… Sadly, that last statement was somewhat literal.

Purple light filled the air with an almost painful hum and the cannon detonated in a mini explosion that threw Peter off his feet.

The teen's surprised yelp was drowned out by the henchmen’s shouts of alarm.

The light died.

Peter sat up and glared at the dark scorch marks splitting the ferry in half.

The deck groaned and Peter felt his heat jump into his throat.

“ _Structural integrity compromised,_ ” Suit Lady reported urgently, right before something _popped_ deep inside the ferry and water started gushing through the gigantic crack in the craft's hull.

“No, nonononono,” Peter mumbled in absent terror as he grabbed Punchy and tossed him up to the second level of one half. He webbed him there and quickly repeated the process with Lotso and the fishy twins.

The feds could cut them out and haul then up if need be.

“Suit Lady,” Peter called shooting a line to either side and running them together.

“ _Yes, Peter?”_

He ran further in, webbing every few feet, “I need to know the strongest points in the ferry. Can you check that?”

He almost tripped over another guy just lying between the cars.

“ _I can do that. Scanning.”_

Peter hoisted Sleeping Beauty over his shoulder and kept going. Hopefully he could buy the ferry crew members enough time to set some rafts down.

The 3D schematic of the ferry popped up on his display right around the time he reached the end of the boat.

“Great,” Peter webbed Sleeping Beauty to the second level.

**_CRACK!_ **

Peter stumbled as the two halves of the ferry split further apart and water shot up like a geyser.

Peter swung up between the two halves, tying off as many lines as he could while focusing on the support columns the suit lady had highlighted for him.

“Come on. You can do this,” He muttered to himself. He used his momentum to flip midair and swing around a bundle of his own webs so they pulled the boat closer together, “You can do this.” He flew towards the end of the ferry, water boiling beneath him.

He perched on one half of the ruined metal and popped out the cartridges on his wrists to swap them out. He was going to run out soon, “Suit Lady, how we doing?”

“ _You're efforts were a 98% success,”_ she replied.

Peter's head shot up, heart skipping a beat, “What?” He croaked. What could she mean by that?

**_Snap!_ **

The webs were _breaking-_ or, rather the boat paint they'd adhered to was.

Peter leapt back into the heart of the ferry and threw out more lines. He tried to pull the two halves together again.

The passengers screamed.

It wasn't working.

His shoulders burned.

He could feel his arms starting to slip from their sockets.

**_Thunk!_ **

“Yeah! Iron man!” Someone yelled up on the second deck.

Peter felt a fleeting sense of relief and dread as the two halves were slowly starting to draw together again. The ferry was going to make it.

He was so dead.

 

“How do you do it?” May asked wearily, “How do you go day to day knowing Matt's out there at night risking his life?”

May watched Claire fiddle with her mug of tea contemplatively. They'd headed on over to the Smile Deli for an afternoon snack once they'd left the boys.

Mr. Delmar, the owner, had given them both discounts on their sandwiches along with a few words in Spanish that had made Claire smile.

“I guess I just try to trust that he knows there are people he can count on when he needs help and that he'll call them,” Claire said after several moments of silence.

May didn't feel all that consoled. From what she understood, Spider-Man didn't associate with anyone which meant the only person helping him was Mr. Stark Stark.

The same Mr. Stark Stark who'd dragged him halfway across the world to fight in a battle he had no business attending- for the _wrong side_. Every time Peter went out he was violating the very documents he'd fought for. It made May wonder if Stark had explained any of it.

Peter had probably just said yes because of what had happened at the Stark expo.

No, Peter did not have a good support system in place for his superheroing.

“If you want, You could give him my number,” Claire offered, “I know a few people who could help him if he gets in over his head and you _know_ I'm a kickass nurse.”

May found herself smiling despite her concerns, “Thanks Claire.”

“No problem,” The nurse said with a shake of her head, “Just promise me you'll think about telling him.”

 

He'd screwed up.

Peter sat, mask in hand, with his legs dangling over the side of the front of some building, several feet from the catwalk that ringed the roof in. He'd swung up there the second the ferry was close enough for him to escape Mr. Stark's cold blistering fury.

The very fury that was talking to the ATF, FBI and police that had been on board.

As much as his ignorance to their presence made Peter cringe, He still felt that his showing up was justified.

The Vulture Guy hadn't shown up until _after_ he'd downed the rest of the dealers which meant he hadn't been there originally.

The whoosh of repulsors jolted the teen from his thoughts as Ironman swung around to hover in front of him, “What the hell happened out there? I told you to leave this alone.”

Peter slid from his perch and hit the catwalk with a dull thud, “I couldn't. I told you: their weapons are dangerous. I can't just ignore that.”

“You can just instigate a fight that puts hundreds of innocent lives at risk,” Mr. Stark said angrily, stepping down out of the suit.

Peter dropped his gaze to the catwalk as dread settled firmly in his stomach.

“Different story, right? ‘cause that's on _you_ ,” Mr. Stark spat, “I told you not to go after this guy. I _told_ you to leave it alone- that I had people on it.”

“ _No,”_ Peter said firmly, irritation curling along his arms like a dangerous snake as he balled his hands into fists, “You said-”

“Don't interrupt me,” Mr. Stark snapped.

“Then don't _ignore_ me!” Peter yelled, “None of this would've happened if you'd just _listened_ to me!”

“ _Listen-_ ” Mr. Stark cut himself off to take a bath and pinch at the bridge of his nose like a frustrated parent, “I listened. You really think the ATF and FBI take ferry rides together for kicks?”

Peter’s shoulders sagged with guilt. He'd honestly just thought the feds had figured it out themselves.

“What you did was reckless and stupid- and if I'm being honest, downright dangerous. You can't just go running off half cocked and expect everything to work out fine. You're smarter than that. Why'd you do it?”

Peter opened his mouth to respond and choked on all the things he could have said, _I'm not. I just wanted to help. I had to stop him,_ “I was just trying to be like you.” _Like the man who chose to stop selling weapons when he'd learned they were reaching the wrong people. Like the man who'd flown a nuke into the sky instead of running because it would kill everyone._

_Like the man who'd landed next to a stupid little boy who thought he could be a hero and saved his life._

Mr. Stark gritted his teeth and shook his head, “I wanted you to be _better_.”

For once in his life, Peter couldn't think of a response- or maybe that was a bit of a lie, but he wasn't going to say it because the only response he could say was to ask:  _how?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just made everything worse, didn't I? Oops.  
> Pretty sure there's a T-shirt for this.  
> Also, For those of you who are going 'wait. Why didn't Toomes just use the funny laser gun to get his buddies out of jail?' Like I did at first, the answer is: He didn't want to accidentally zap them with it.  
> And, yes, May and Peter occasionally watch Casablanca together.  
> Alcohol Tobacco Firearms (ATF)


	13. Asylum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later, somewhere in Queens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is four days after the airport incident. I did maths. With a white board. I probably have to fix a number somewhere in here now. Peter has gym tomorrow. Yay.

May stalked across the shag rug between the coffee table and couch, gnawing on her thumb in worry.

“ _ Authorities are still unclear as to what caused the blast, but multiple witness accounts place local vigilante, Spider-Man, at the scene right before a flash of purple light that split the craft in two. This was followed by the prompt arrival of Ironman, who quickly took control of the situation and put the ferry back together, allowing for local sailors to safely evacuate all 3,248 passengers.”  _ The anchor reported gravely.

May spun on her heel and started her trek back across the room.

“ _ Police say that as of yet, no casualties have been reported.” _

May reached the other end of the couch and turned.

**_Click._ **

She spun towards the door as it opened and let out a relieved sigh.

Peter was standing in the doorway in bright pink hello kitty pajama pants and an ‘I survived my trip to NYC’ shirt, alive. The irony was something to be willfully ignored for the moment.

May almost smiled but then his crestfallen expression registered and she remembered the news. She wasn't sure if she was more concerned or upset, “Been busy?”

Peter seemed to shrink further in on himself as he closed the door and shuffled inside. He shook his head instead of speaking which had May's blood pressure ratcheting up another notch. 

Had he gotten hurt? Was there something she couldn't see? Something she'd missed?

“What's wrong?” She asked, probably not as calmly as she'd like going by the way Peter ducked his head.

“Nothing,” he said quietly and rubbed at one arm as he sank down into one of the dining room chairs.

It most certainly was _ not, _ “Nothing.” Something was wrong and May was going to get to the bottom of it then rip whoever had put that look on her kid's face a new one.

“It doesn't look like nothing,” May said. She would _ not _ get angry with him over this. She still didn't have all of the facts, but  _ damn _ it was hard keeping calm.

And Peter still hadn't looked her in the eyes.

Something was wrong.

“I lost the Stark internship,” he croaked with the same finality he'd used to tell her that Ben's death was his fault.

Any remaining frustration evaporated, leaving a weariness that settled in her bones, “Oh, honey.” She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. She wanted to be relieved- not that she'd ever admit that to him. Stark wouldn't be dragging her kid off to Germany or God knows where any time soon. Problem was: Spider-Man was older than the Avengers’ little family feud. She doubted Stark's lack of support would stop her nephew from going out. 

“I thought- I thought that if I worked hard enough, it would all work out,” Peter continued softly. He’d laced his fingers together at some point and was staring at them like they held all the answers he needed.

May wanted to cover them with her own so he would at least _look_ _at her_. She couldn't clearly read his expressions like this.

Peter let out a quiet huff of air and closed them into fists, “Guess I screwed that up too.”

May pulled him in close for a hug, “But you keep trying and that's about all you can do.” She didn't ask what else he thought he'd screwed up. Now was not the time and she had a rough idea anyway.

She felt more than saw Peter nod and gave him a light pat on the back before letting go, “So, I was thinking pizza tonight. You wanna pick the movie while I make the call?”

Peter offered her a watery smile and nodded, “Yeah.”

_ There he is. _

May grinned and went to get the phone.

 

Scott looked over his hand carefully. He had four cards to Wanda’s two. It was almost a fifty fifty shot. Moment of truth, “do you have any sevens?”

The teen glanced over her cards, “No. Go fish.”

“Dah!” Scott grabbed a two of clubs from the deck.

Sam, who had settled down in the kitchen chair at the end of the coffee table somewhere in the earlier stages of their game, let out an amused huff, “How are you this bad?”

Scott frowned at him, “I haven't played Go fish since I was a kid. Give me a break.”

“I haven't  _ ever _ played it,” Wanda pointed out flatly.

Her tone had less emotion than a brick and her voice sounded like shattered glass, but she'd spoken so he counted it as a win.

“Yeah, well… Beginner's  _ luck _ , then,” Scott retorted.

“Do you have any Jacks?” Wanda asked in retaliation.

“I do  _ not _ . Hah!” Scott grinned.

Wanda's lips quirked up in the barest hint of a smile as she drew another card then wound up depositing it and one of her two in her match pile.

“Oh, come on!” Scott whined.

Sam laughed and the front door opened.

Captain America and Arrow Guy slipped in with matching grim expressions.

What little levity the mood in the room had gained before died instantly.

“Any luck?” Sam asked.

Scott straightened only to see Captain America shake his head somberly.

“What were you two trying to do, anyway?” Scott asked as Clint shuffled past the Captain into the kitchen.

“We were hoping to cripple the Russian mob by taking out their new supplier,” Captain America explained.

“Except the guy's a slippery little shit with wings,” Clint added, coming back in with a bag of jerky, a yogurt and a spoon. He set the yogurt and spoon on Wanda's stack of cards then sank to the ground on her other side with his jerky and a pained groan.

“Daredevil’s running a few faces for us,” Captain America finished.

“Okay, but when you say wings,” Sam intoned doubtfully.

“Big metal ones,” Arrow Guy elaborated and dug a handful of jerky from the bag.

“Like a  _ bird _ ?” Scott scoffed.

Arrow guy hummed his affirmative.

Scott frowned, “Well that's just… weird.”

“This coming from the guy in the ant costume,” Sam said.

Captain America sighed, “Guys, please don't start. It's been a really long day.”

“How's Nat?” Arrow Guy asked as a distraction, “She check in yet?”

“She said she's closing in on your guy,” Sam said, “Should be back the day after tomorrow or so.”

Steve nodded.

“We should probably get more groceries then,” Scott mused.

Steve and Sam both gave him  _ looks. _ Wanda raised an eyebrow at him and Arrow Guy shoved another handful of jerky in his mouth with dead eyes. It was kinda creepy. Could people sleep eat? He looked like a zombie. Maybe the bag was really-

Scott forced himself to make eye contact with Captain America and Sam instead of following that train of thought, “What? We've got at least one super soldier if we're not counting Black Widow, three fully grown men and a teenager. You really wanna be ordering take out for the rest of our time here? That shits expensive.”

Sam shrugged in a vague sort of agreement. Captain America looked like he wanted to say something and then his expression changed and he looked like he swallowed a golf ball.

“Crap. Sorry. That cra- Stuff? That stuff’s expensive,” Scott corrected.

Sam rolled his eyes but Steve nodded and shifted towards the kitchen door, “I'll make a list.”

Nailed it.

 

He'd really done it this time.

Tony dropped the kid's suit on the couch beside Happy. 

“That bad, huh?” Happy mused.

Tony’s  own suit whirred and clicked as he stepped out of it, “Pretty much. You good here?” He asked, scooping up the glorified spandex on his way to one of the labs.

“With what?” Happy asked, “You've got me doing inventory here.”

“Is that a yes or no?” Tony called over his shoulder without stopping.

“Why the hell are you having me do this?” Happy complained.

Honestly, it was just to get a rise out of him. Tony could go over the inventory once he finished fixing the bugs in the kid's suit. Officially, though, “You were supposed to be monitoring the kid's feed to warn me before he did anything stupid and you did not; therefore, you have been redesignated to moving man.”

He didn't stick around to watch Happy grimace. 

Instead, Tony slipped into his lab and dropped the suit on his desk while Mk 43 walked itself to its empty case.

Tony sank into the desk chair with a weary sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face.

His intervention at the ferry had been decidedly worse than  _ that bad _ . Ross wanted him to bring the kid in.

The stuck up prick wanted him to throw a fifteen year old kid in that leaky bath tub they called a prison. 

Tony had out right lied, telling Ross he had no idea who Spider-Man was, and later, that Spider-Man had gotten away when the creep had called back.

Tony had seen what they'd put Wanda through, granted she had a very public history and slightly creepier crazy ass powers, but that was no excuse. It didn't really matter, though. Tony couldn't do a thing about it. Ross had made sure of that.

Of course, he couldn't tell Peter any of this.

That would be admitting that he'd twisted his side of the story to suit his needs. The Accords put the Avengers in check, yes. Tony doubted they'd have another Ultron or Nigeria incident with them in place. That was great. The part that  _ wasn't _ great and the part that would have had the kid fighting on Cap’s side, was Tony couldn't do a damn thing about Peter's “Vulture Guy” either.

He was still getting chewed out for putting a ferry back together (Ross had promised to call back). There was no way he would get away with actually fighting this guy. He was one of thousands of illegal weapons dealers all across the globe. The UN wasn't about to send Ironman in to take him out- not that Tony was asking. 

The feds could probably handle Tweetie Bird. They were smart.

Spider-kid, on the other hand, needed a timeout- which he was hopefully getting. 

Probably not.

Definitely not. The kid had a superhero complex that rivaled Captain America- maybe even beat Cap's. It was going to get him killed one of these days. That is if his normal teenage recklessness didn't do it first. Tony was lucky the kid didn't know what they'd really been fighting about in Germany. Recklessness would be the last of his worries when that happened.

He just hoped taking the suit away had been the right decision. He should have probably put a tracker in the kid's old suit just in case.

He'd probably be fine… maybe.

 

Peter frowned at the television as Candidate Shaw drew his mother into his former CO’s cross hairs. The lady had tried to brainwash Marco (the CO) into killing the president. Peter wasn't sure he agreed with how they were stopping her. Morals aside, there was still a whole slew of people out there that could do what she'd done, So killing her was kind of pointless.

The shot rang out and Peter tensed as Shaw and his mother dropped to a chorus of screams. 

Nope. He was not okay with this. Nope nope nope-

Aunt May gently squeezed his arm, snapping him out of the downward spiral he hadn't realized he'd been on.

Peter flashed her a smile and grabbed the last breadstick as Marco pulled out a handgun.

Peter took a bite right as the FBI showed up just in time. Now that he thought about it, Shaw and Marco’s situation was kind of similar to Mr. Stark's and Captain Rogers’- If instead of the brainwashing mother there was a concerned best friend and they weren't trying to kill the president… Nevermind.

It still begged the question: If Sergeant Barnes really did all the things people were saying he did, then why would Captain Rogers side with him? This definitely called for some research.

“Are you going to swallow that any time soon or are you trying to grow mold?” May asked.

Peter blinked and started chewing again.

She smirked and took a sip of her soda, “Oh, I almost forgot. I met Steve from Brooklyn today.”

Peter choked and tried not to spit half chewed bread all over the living room.

May thumped him on the back and he managed to swallow painfully so he could croak, “What?!”

She was grinning like a mad scientist now. Shit.

“Well, it was  _ a _ Steve from Brooklyn,” She admitted like she hadn't nearly given Peter a heart attack, “Steve is a pretty common name nowadays.” 

May was _ evil _ . Maybe she'd been replaced with a doppelganger or something. That could happen in real life, couldn't it? Or, She could have been brainwashed like Sergeant Shaw.

Peter glared at her and took a swig of his soda before asking, “You didn't yell at him or anything, did you?”

May raised an eyebrow, “You make me sound like some sort of over emotional monster.”

Peter opened his mouth and closed it. When he did speak, his voice was an octave higher than it normally was, “No. No- not over emotional, more like over protective.”

She hummed skeptically and got up with their plates, “Yeah, well, You have school tomorrow and Claire and I have self defense classes after work so don't stay up too late.”

“Okay,” Peter called over his shoulder, collecting the pizza box and breadstick bag. He was even going to follow through with it this time. All he needed to do was find some files on the winter soldier, finish up his American History homework and then find out what this Toomes guy was planning next. Piece of cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Staten Island ferry boards 3,500 people and 40 vehicles at max capacity.  
> Also, they're watching The Manchurian Candidate.  
> Claire totally has a therapy group for vigilantes' friends. They go for drinks on Fridays.


	14. The Spider and the Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webs can be... Tricky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient with me guys!

It was _ not _ cake.

His web search had gone fine. He'd found one- a few dozen, really- of the old SHIELD files Black Widow had dropped on the web- which is funny because you'd think an intelligence agency would be better at cleaning up their own messes. He was running them through a decryption program he and Ned had designed a while back. They should be ready to read by tomorrow afternoon.

The files weren't his current problem, though.

His current problem was that he didn't know who founded the Bank of New York or why that was important.

Peter dropped his pencil with a frustrated groan and leaned back, running his fingers over his scalp. It was the last question too.

“Problem?” May asked from the doorway.

Peter craned his neck to look at her over the back of his chair, “I don't know who founded the Bank of New York and I forgot my textbook at school.”

May quirked a brow, “Who was part of the Virginia compromise?”

Peter grimaced, “Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, and, Alexander Hamilton?”

May nodded, “Jefferson was from Virginia, So who's left?”

James Madison was from Virginia too, “Oh. Hamilton. Thanks, May,” He said, straightening to write down the answer.

“Any time,” May replied on her way out, “Oh, and don't forget we've got parent teacher conferences tomorrow. You have to be there for your Spanish class.”

Peter groaned and dropped back against his chair again. So much for taking down Toomes’ operations tomorrow. He should probably do as much recon as he could before that anyway. Didn't want another ferry incident. 

He put his pencil back in the cup under his desk lamp and started shoving his homework into a folder while May sang, “No one else was in the room where it happened, the room where it happened, the room where it happened.”

He still had maybe about two hours before she went to sleep. He should probably make sure his suit was ready to go by then.

Now, Where did he put it?

  


“Where did I put it?” Clint grumbled, sifting through a small mountain of clothes that had previously been in his dresser, “Tasha, did you see my-” he cut himself off with a frown as Steve poked his head in like a big star spangled puppy- well, not star spangled anymore.

“Lose something?”

Clint shook his head, “I've got it, Cap,” he replied right as he spotted his other hearing aid. 

Steve stayed where he was.

Clint grabbed the small device and used getting it in place as an excuse to not look Steve in the eye, “See something you like?” He asked when the staring started to feel uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Steve asked with a concerned pout.

_ God, shoot me now. _

He wasn't sure he or his contact could handle that kicked puppy look right now… And there was a good chance Dimitri would bolt if he brought anyone new.

Clint turned around and snagged his jacket off the bed where he'd dropped it, “Nah. I'm good, Cap. Just meeting a contact. DD said he would be nearby if I needed back up.”

Steve nodded but he looked like he wanted to argue. Nat would have said she was coming flat out. 

“Besides, somebody's gotta teach Scott how to play cards,” He threw over his shoulder, “Sam's enjoying his losing streak too much.”

Sam glared at him from the couch and Scott raised an eyebrow.

“You're leaving?” Wanda asked and, damnit, if Cap's puppy eyes were bad, this was a thousand times worse.

Somehow, Wanda has managed to look both worried and crestfallen in the same expression. It made Clint want to tell her that he was just going to check the mail, to hell with Dimitri and his shady ass.

He could see why her brother had been so protective of her.

“Not for long,” Clint assured her with a smile he didn't feel, “I'm going to meet a guy and ask him a few questions. I'll be back for breakfast.”

She nodded but the worried look didn't go away, “Be careful.”

“Always,” Clint inclined his head and headed for the door.

  


It was at the bottom of his laundry hamper. His _ empty _ laundry hamper.

Peter held the crumpled ball of polar fleece he'd made out of Ben's old sweaters six months ago and tried not to choke on his own lungs.

She knew. She had to know.  _ He _ hadn't done his laundry. She couldn't have missed his suit… could she? She wouldn't have left it there if she'd seen it. She would have freaked.

She would never let him go out to fight criminals at night.

Peter hugged the suit closer to his chest and made sure he'd closed the door again.

She couldn't know. She could never know.

Peter carefully untied the rope around his old suit and spread it out over his bed, smoothing a hand over the soft fabric to check for tears. 

He could still remember Ben's face when he'd asked for the sweaters he'd used to make it. They'd been too small for his uncle for a while and May had been asking Ben to throw them out anyway. It was kind of a fluke that they happened to be blue and red. At the time, he'd just been after the sweaters because they were soft and they were something of Ben's he could have with him when Flash was too much.

When Ben died and he'd made the suit from them, it was like he had Ben by his side the whole time.

Okay, so,  _ maybe  _ the whole thing was stupidly sentimental, but it was his and it was _ not _ a onesie.

May's door closed, snapping Peter from his thoughts and he shook his head with a wet sniff.

He still had to check his web shooters.

  


Clint popped the clip out of his gun to make sure it was fully loaded before sliding it in again and stuffing it down the back of his pants. 

He was going to need it. Dimitri was a tricky bastard at the best of times and this certainly didn't qualify. His boss had a number of Hell’s kitchen’s finest under his payroll.

The reason- the  _ real _ reason Clint hadn't wanted Cap with him was he didn't want Dimitri to rat on him. While Captain America was not explicitly connected to Steve due to his spectacularly terrible attempt at flight, Clint was pretty sure Ross would have the Captain's face plastered on every media surface the megalomaniac could get his grubby little mitts on.

Clint checked that he had a spare set of eskrima sticks for Matt and closed his trunk, “I go on vacation for  _ one day _ …”

The driver's seat squeaked when he sat down but the leather was love worn and cared for in the way only Phil Coulson could manage.

Clint’s former handler had gifted it to him and Laura for their wedding- with Director Fury’s blessing of course. Another one of SHIELD’s old collectibles. 

The engine turned over with a low rumble and Clint pulled away from the curb to the sound of Nova’s purr.

  


Peter glanced at the door again and tugged on the fastenings for his old home made web shooters to make sure they were secure, “Okay,” he sighed, “we're going to go out there and check out their lair, make sure they aren't moving or planning anything crazy,” he nodded to himself when his speech was meet with silence- not that he was expecting otherwise, but he had to talk to _ someone _ , “Good talk.”

He turned off the bedroom light with one hand while he pulled his mask over his face with the other and carefully made his way to the window.

Peter took a shaky breath and opened it, “Here goes everything.”

  


Dimitri was waiting by the time Clint got to the meeting site. He was smoking menthols by a park bench alone- or that's what he wanted Clint to think.

Clint could smell at least three different types of smoke in the air which meant either Dimitri was being cautious or this was a trap, “DD, you owe me at least two pizzas for this,” he muttered, hoping Matt was at least close enough to know when this whole meeting went to shit. Here goes nothing, right?

“Barton!” Dimitri called, “I hope you don't waste my time, bringing me here. What you want, huh?”

Clint tilted his head to the side, trying to decide whether or not to call him on the guys he had hidden and trying to spot them at the same time, “No, I wouldn't say it's a waste of _ your _ time. Maybe a waste of mine if you're planning to get cute.”

“I don't do cute,” Dimitri said flatly, “Is bad for reputation.”

“Right,” Clint deadpanned. He believed him. Dimitri had just been trying to see which brand of smokes would give him cancer the fastest. And he'd settled on smelling like burnt black licorice while he did it. Matt was going to  _ love _ this.

  


“... No, I said we're moving out,” A voice said irritably up ahead.

Peter crept carefully along the ceiling while people moved around and whatever they were moving crashed and clanked together.

“Watch it! Those power cells are highly unstable!” someone else yelled.

“Donald! So glad you could finally make it,” The first voice called as Peter crawled behind a pillar where he could watch the room.

A portly middle aged redhead man was hovering by a crate three times his size while a tall bald African American man and another guy in a beanie and a bright green vest moved it.

Across the room, the vulture guy-

Peter froze.

The Vulture guy had his mask off and he was definitely familiar. Receding grey hair peppered cracked Sun-browned skin.

“You ratted on us,” he was saying- Toomes. They'd said his name was Toomes. Peter thought he'd heard that name before but  _ where? _

“It's Aaron,” potato spud guy corrected, “And you didn't used to be okay with killing kids.”

Peter tensed, ready to swing down. Toomes had killed someone?

Toomes scoffed, “He's hardly a kid, Davis.”

Aaron looked unimpressed, “Really? ‘cause I talked to ’im when he snuck in here last night and his voice still cracked.”

Peter inched closer. They were talking about him? He wasn't sure if he should be relieved that Toomes hadn't killed anyone yet or worried that this Aaron guy was in trouble.

Aaron’s gaze flickered towards Peter then locked with Toomes’.

“You talked to him,” Toomes stated pointedly.

Aaron shrugged, “Yeah. Caught ‘im leaving. He set off the motion sensors in the ceiling. Kid needs to learn how to sneak around.”

Motion sensors? There's no way-

Peter's eyes widened in realization and his stomach dropped. 

Shit.

His spidey-sense shrieked. He almost lost his grip on the ceiling.

Then the air split in two and he was falling because there was someone trying to burrow their way into his brain and it hurt.  _ Ohgodplease. Make. It.  _ **_Stop!_ ** _ Make it stop! _

  


“Stop it!”

Toomes grabbed Davis by the collar to keep the man from helping the vigilante writhing in pain twenty feet away.

“Toomes, you can't just let him-” Davis protested, “He's a kid!”

Adrian just held tight and watched Spider-Man go still.

Schultz shut the sonic blaster they'd adapted off and Arian nodded, “You're right. And now he's not going to get in the way of business anymore.”

Davis shot him an alarmed glare.

Toomes scoffed, “Relax. He's not dead. We're not quite there yet.”

  


Clint grimaced and ducked someone's wild haymaker before punching them in the gut. 

Vladdi didn't like Dimitri giving out secrets. There were twenty of them. 

Dimitri was dead.

He should've let cap come. 

Someone else caught him in the side and he whipped around with a backhand that sent them sprawling. 

Nine down, eleven to go.

He blocked an elbow to his ear and took a hit to his kidneys. He kicked in the direction the hit had come from.

“ **Ty** **_ublyudok_ ** !”

Rude. Ten.

**_Crack_ ** !

Clint let out a howl of pain as his right knee gave way under a guy's foot and he tumbled over Dimitri’s body. He immediately tried to get back up and got a boot to his side for the trouble.

The impact left him wheezing until someone’s foot glanced the side of his head and his hearing aid ripped out of his ear.

Clint lashed out.

The guy dropped with a yelp, holding his crotch.

Nine.

**_Click._ **

Clint barely heard it over the ringing in his ears but the sound had him zeroing in on the gun held in Boghdan's grip. The blond slowly raised his hands.

Vladimir’s right hand man was glowing down at the archer with his free hand pressed to his bleeding nose.

Clint’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline, “pine tree.” He should’ve hit him harder. 

“Shut up!” The brunet spat, “You're lucky boss wants you alive or we would have killed you too.”

“How flattering,” Clint remarked.

Boghdan kicked him in the head and Clint had to blink the black spots from his eyes for a minute.

“I said shut up!” Boghdan snapped.

Clint nodded and blinked again when the shadows behind the group flickered, “Right, right. I will. Just- just one thing.”

Daredevil materialized behind their loose ring but they were focused on Clint.

“The Devil's right behind you,” The blond grinned.

Boghdan didn't even manage to turn all the way. He maybe got a glance then Matt's fist was snapping his head sideways and his gun was going off. What would have been a fatal shot, hit Clint in the side. Still not good, but it was at least less inconvenient.

The archer gritted his teeth and kicked the fourth guy in the shin before he could fully aim his gun at Matt.

**_Bang!_ **

Matt threw Boghdan’s gun at his head to finish him while guy two fell over with a bullet in his shoulder.

Six left.

Matt punched one in the throat and shoved him into guy three.

Guy seven tried to step over Clint to help them, but Clint grabbed his ankles with a grimace, sending the guy crashing face first into asphalt.

He didn't catch the rest. Guy seven’s feet were in his face, his head felt like Loki had played around with it again, his side was screaming at him and his knee felt like someone had tried to rip his leg off.

Oh! And his ear was on fire. Couldn't forget that.

He really should've let Cap come.

Or maybe he just should've stayed in bed this morning. They still needed to get groceries. Damnit.

“Barton!” Matt snapped from where he was crouched over the downed archer.

Clint frowned. When had that happened? Probably a few minutes ago if Matt's tone was anything to go by. Clint must be worse off than he thought. Great. Nat was gonna kill him.

Buzzing, burning pain crawled up and down his side as Daredevil put pressure on the wound. 

Clint probably made a noise but at the moment, he couldn't hear shit. Naturally that didn't stop him from gritting out a, “You're late,” so Matt would at least know he was coherent.

He thought he saw a smirk before Matt scowled but he could just be delirious.

“You were early,” Matt countered, “I hadn't even gotten into position.”

Clint grunted his acknowledgement and hoped the Devil would let up on his side before he lost feeling in his leg- not that he  _ wanted _ to feel torn ligaments at the moment but he liked that leg.

“Did he tell you anything?” 

Clint shook his head, “We need to move.”

Matt pushed down on his shoulder when he tried to sit up and everything flared in protest, “You need to stay still. I called for help. She's going to come get us.”

When had he had the time to do  _ that _ ?

They needed to get out of there.

Clint shook his head and managed to lift it off the ground but Daredevil still had the rest of him pinned, “No. No time-”

“You're going to make it,” Matt scowled.

Clint huffed in frustration. Was he really _ that _ pessimistic? “ _ Vlad _ ,” The archer growled pointedly, “He's coming.”

  


Peter's head felt like that one time he'd face planted on a roof after miscalculation a shot. His spidey-sense hummed like a nest of angry wasps. It wasn't something he'd wanted to re-experience. Yay- wait.

His eyes snapped open the second he remembered exactly _ why _ his head hurt.

His wrists twinged at the wild flail of him trying to sit upright in the car seat and he got his first look at a really wacky set of glowing handcuffs.

“Oh good.”

Peter flinched, gaze snapping to the sun-weathered face between the front seats of the car they were in. 

They were in a car.

That was probably an important scene change. Peter couldn't really care less about it though because he was also suddenly very aware that he was looking at Toomes, the guy he'd been actively trying to stop- the guy who'd nearly killed _ three thousand people- _ without his mask.

“Thought Schultz might've fried your brains,” Toomes elaborated like Peter wasn't handcuffed in the back of his car. 

Peter clenched his jaw, trying not to ask who Schultz was or where they were. If he was lucky-  _ really,  _ **_Really_ ** lucky- then Toomes had no idea who he was and this was some sort of villainous monologue before Toomes tried to kill Peter and dump his body.

Sad, how that was the best case scenario. 

Toomes sighed, “You really did it, Pete- can I call you Pete?”

Peter felt his heart drop right out of his body. So much for his best case scenario.

He glanced out the window in the hopes that maybe he could make a break for it or that the name was just that. They could have just googled his face or something, right?

His apartment building was across the street. Nononono, no. It couldn't be across the street because even if Toomes _ did _ know who he was, why would he bring Peter here?

“I'll let you go in a minute,” Toomes said, “Honestly, I was gonna kill you right off the bat for breaking into my work place like you did.”

Peter scowled at him.

“Breaking and entering’s illegal, you know,” The man teased.

“So is stealing,” Peter retorted shakily before he could stop himself.

Toomes studied him and for several petrifying seconds, he thought Toomes might react- shout, attack,  _ anything _ \- but he didn't.

“Your superhero complex is starting to become a problem, Peter,” The man said finally.

He didn't snap or snarl and his calm served to scare Peter even more.

The man shifted in his seat and the teen flinched.

“Relax. I'm not going to hurt you,” Toomes said calmly, “I just wanted to talk. You see, part of the problem in most conflicts is miscommunication.”

Movement in the corner of his eye drew Peter's gaze back to the apartment in time to see two guys disappear through the front doors.

“Billionaires survive assassinations in foreign countries, brothers fight each other and nearly destroy everyone around them, and a punk kid sticks his nose where he's not wanted,” Toomes paused meaningfully, “Obviously, you've made it quite clear what you think about my business but I don't think anyone's explained the consequences of interfering with my work to you.”

Peter shot him an alarmed look, heart skipping a beat. His spidey-sense spiked, “No.”

Toomes shrugged sympathetically, “Too bad. We should've had this talk sooner.”

His senses shrieked.

“Wait-”

**_Pop! Pop!_ **

Peter flinched at the sound of muffled gunfire and lurched forward, “ **_MAY!_ ** ”

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and shoved him back in his seat.

Peter's head collided with the window but the tears that rolled down his cheeks had nothing to do with physical pain. He stared at Toomes as a hollow feeling spread through his chest, “You-” he choked, voice shaking with fear and anger, unable to finish the sentence. If he said it, it would be real. This wouldn't all be some horrible dream. He wouldn't wake up and May wouldn't be okay.

May would be dead and it would have been his fault all over again.

The villain’s expression was stone, “No, but you mess with my business again, and I will. Now get out.”

Peter blinked and barely noticed the cuffs falling away as he scrambled for the door.

He tore across the street, blood pounding in his ears, and jumped onto the wall when he was close enough. He barely paused long enough to right himself when he tumbled through his window, stripping off the jacket of his suit as an afterthought, “May? May?!”

He wrenched his door open and there she was, rumpled and worried on the other side.

May pulled him into a frantic hug as Peter let out a sob of relief and returned it with a tremulous embrace of his own.

“We're okay. We're okay,” She murmured into his hair over and over, “We're okay.”

  


Matthew Murdock considered himself to be a patient man. In all honesty, he probably wasn't. That being said, he had expected, when Clint had asked him for back up, to have at least a little wait time before he would be needed. He should've known better. 

Clint hissed when they stumbled over an uneven patch in the concrete.

Matt carefully readjusted his grip with a muttered, “Sorry. Almost there. Just hold on,” and kept inching forward at an agonizingly slow pace.

“You sound like a fucking cat poster,” Clint grunted.

“Yes, well, at least I'm an unscathed cat poster,” Matt replied instead of worrying about how the archer was leaning into him more than he had been a minute ago.

“We still need to get groceries,” Clint muttered.

Matt didn't dispute it. He was fairly certain Clint was delirious at this point but he was still talking which meant he was still awake.

Blood still seeped down Clint's side. Matt could taste it in the air and that worried him more than the wound itself.

“They're gonna send someone and they're going to mess up Nat’s cereal,” Clint complained, “She likes Life- thinks it's ironic,” he snorted and Matt heard him grimace as the action pulled at his various injuries, “You can't let ‘em forget her cereal.”

Matt frowned and stopped, leaning Clint against the alley wall so Matt could gather his strength again, “Tell them yourself. I'm getting you to Claire. You're going to be fine.”

“I know. ‘m not dying. I'm gonna go to sleep soon as Claire patches me up, though. Fuck consciousness.”

Matt let out a relieved huff and straightened them so he could keep pressing forward, “So, cereal. What else?”

“we're out of milk,” Clint croaked, “And Sam stress bakes so whoever goes should probably get pancake mix or cake mix or…”

Matt listened to Clint's heartbeat slow with a frown and jostled him, “Clint.”

“Mm,” The archer mumbled, “Wanda likes paprika on her eggs… She's super picky about it, though, so they should probably get pepper instead.”

Matt hummed and adjusted his grip on Clint's arm. They were almost to the meeting point.

He could hear the buzz of the electronic billboard across the street from it.

“What else do you need?” Matt prompted when Clint had been silent for too long.

“Steve can't go,” he mumbled in response, “He gets too much salmon,” Clint added as a matter of fact. Matt had certainly not expected that to be his reasoning.

“He likes hot dogs-,” Clint jolted in Matt's grip and went boneless.

Matt stumbled under his sudden weight, “Clint! Barton, you better not pass out on me!” He growled and tried to listen for Clint's heartbeat but the only sound was the blood pounding in his ears, “Barton! Answer me!”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's going to need a hug now. Wanda needs ten hugs, though.  
> Yes, that was a Hamilton reference. Yes, May totally saw Hamilton with Claire. No, I did not see it but because I don't like big crowds, not the whole boycott thing that went down. I got the album. The music's fun.  
> The salmon comment is based off of this video I found about what was on Chris Pratt's diet so he could lose weight for GoG. Obviously there was something fishy involved.  
> Clint determined that Vladimir was coming based on the fact that Boghdan wasn't trying to move him to a car or anything.  
> Things will be picking up in the next few chapters but it will get happy again. Promise.


	15. Spider Webs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And thus, the pieces draw together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliff hasn't in the last chapter. Sort of... Okay, Not really.

Steve quietly passed into the living room as the coffee maker rattled and wheezed in the kitchen. It was only five thirty. The sun hadn't risen yet but it was well past the time Clint should have come home.

Steve sighed and picked his phone up off of the coffee table to make sure Clint hadn't called him back while he was taking his shower. 

He was greeted with an empty screen. Steve sank gingerly onto the end of the couch furthest from the door. Wanda had fallen asleep on the other end, curled up around a book.

The book was on the coffee table now and the blanket Sam had draped over her while Scott set it there was pooled around her waist.

Steve carefully reached over and pulled it back up to her shoulder before checking his phone again.

“Any news?” Sam asked softly from the entrance to the hall.

Steve shook his head and set his phone on the table before getting up to follow Sam into the kitchen, “I can't get ahold of either of them. Daredevil was supposed to be watching his back. I could go check out the meeting place later, see if there's any evidence that they might've made it out.”

Sam shook his head, “That's way too risky. You're the most likely to be recognized out of all of us. I could go, hell,  _ Lang _ could go. Dude's pretty sneaky even without his suit.”

Scott shuffled in with a yawn, scratching at his stomach absently, “Arrow guy not back yet?”

Steve shot Sam a stern look over Scott's back as the latter pulled open the fridge in search of breakfast.

Sam shrugged with a sense of grim triumph, “No, we're trying to work out how to make sure he's okay. Steve wanted to go check the meet.”

Scott hummed, “Not sure public transportation’s the best idea for you right now, Captain Rogers.”

**_vvv. vvv. vvv. vv-_ **

“Hello?”

The three men exchanged a look before returning to the living room.

“Is he alright?” Wanda had the phone pressed to her ear, eyes glistening.

Steve's heart sank.

Wanda let out a shaky sigh and nodded, “Alright.”

Steve moved around the coffee table to accept the phone from her when she held it out, “Matt?”

_ “Claire _ ,” the woman on the other end of the line corrected wearily.

Steve glanced at the others.

Scott was awkwardly hugging Wanda while Sam alternated between hovering protectively over the two and watching Steve like he was expecting the other shoe to drop.

“Where is he?” Steve asked, moving away from the others.

“ _ Matt's running your sketches and making sure the NYPD didn't miss any of Boghdan's guys,” _ Claire explained, “ _ He told me to call you when I had Clint stable.” _

Steve nodded to himself and ducked back into the kitchen before muttering, “How bad is he?”

Claire sighed, “ _ Honestly? All things considered, It could be worse- a  _ **_lot_ ** _ worse.” _

Somehow Steve didn't find that very reassuring.

 

Peter readjusted his ear bud and fiddled with the combination lock on his locker, trying to ignore the agitated buzzing in the back of his skull that was starting to make his head hurt.

“Peter,” Ned greeted from next to him.  _ Right _ next to him.

Peter flinched and the buzzing belatedly spiked into a painful hum.

“You okay, man?” Need asked worriedly.

“Hmm?” Peter grimaced maybe coming to school today was a bad idea. He removed the ear buds and let them dangle from his shirt collar despite wanting to put them right back in when everything got louder.

“You look pale,” Ned observed helpfully, “Paler than usual,” he added because Peter clearly didn't know what he meant.

God, he needed sleep. Peter shook himself and made a point of actually looking at the other teen before he put on a smile, “Fine. I'm fine, Ned. Why wouldn't I be?”

Ned eyed him wearily, “You go out and fight criminals every night in a skin tight suit,” he said slowly, “I heard about the shooting. The news said the guys got away.”

Peter's gaze dropped back to his locker door, “I'm fine.”

He saw Ned open his mouth to counter but before he could the hair on the back of Peter's neck stood on end.

“Hey, losers. What're you doing here this early?” Michelle asked, too close and too loud, even though Peter could swear she wasn't raising her voice and she was further away than Ned.

Peter opened his locker and shifted to the side so he could see both of them as he scratched the back of his neck to dispel the prickling sensation, “My train was early.”

“Same,” Ned chimed in.

“You ride the bus,” Michelle retorted with narrowed eyes.

“Uh…”

Peter ignored Ned’s silent plea for back up in favour of grabbing his American History and econ books. Should he grab the lit too? It was sort of bulky but it didn't weigh that much compared to a bus-

“Peter,” Ned said loudly, making the brunette in question startle.

“Sorry. What?” Peter asked.

They were staring at him. They were staring and his skin was crawling and the  _ thud thud thud _ of kids’ sneakers was popping in his ears from two halls over while the lights droned in time with the prickling-

“Parker,” Michelle said again.

Peter flinched as his eardrums rattled, “Y-yeah?” He really should've stayed in bed.

“You look like shit,” She stated bluntly.

“Gee, thanks,” Peter deadpanned.

Michelle narrowed her eyes again, “You sure you should be here?”

_ No, _ Peter almost whined. He forced himself to straighten with what he hoped looked like a confused frown instead, “Yeah-  _ yes _ . Why wouldn't I be here? We have parent teacher conferences tonight.”

“Aw, man!” Ned groaned.

Michelle didn't seem convinced but shrugged after several moments, “Whatever. It's a half day anyway.”

“I can't get detention again,” Peter said, “May would freak.”

Michelle raised an eyebrow, “I think the teachers would understand.”

Ned nodded, “Yeah especially after-” 

Michelle elbowed him in the side before he could cut himself off.

Peter used checking to make sure he had everything to avoid looking them in the eyes. His senses droned louder as the hall slowly started to fill with more students and the popping escalated into a dull roar. 

**_Bang!_ **

Peter jumped and scanned the small crowd frantically. 

Another locker door slammed shut with a  **_bang!_ ** And he forced himself to relax somewhat.

He missed the look Michelle shot Ned before the other boy was closing Peter's locker and she was dragging Peter away.

With the different noises assaulting his ears it took him a few seconds (longer than it should have) for him to remember that this was unusual behavior for her. Invasion of personal space aside, (she had to, to drag him to class by his elbow) she didn't normally talk to Peter or Ned outside of lunch and decathlon. She barely talked to them _ in _ lunch and decathlon.

“Uh… Michelle?” 

“What?” She asked defensively.

Peter glanced at her hand pointedly and raised his eyebrows, “You okay?”

Michelle frowned-  _ actually frowned _ ! She usually- okay so she didn't exactly smile a lot, but she didn't _ frown _ either.

“Shut up, Parker,” she grumbled as they entered the classroom and shoved she him in his seat.

Peter felt a frown of his own coming on. It wasn't even nine yet and today was already off to a weird start.

 

Matt grimaced in anticipation of the impending lecture he was about to receive and opened the door to the office.

“What the hell, Murdock!” Foggy exclaimed loudly- not enough to be called a yell, though Matt had a feeling his colleague was getting there. 

He didn't hear Karen which meant this was probably about last night. Great.He needed coffee for this conversation. 

“Nice to see you too, Foggy,” Matt said blandly. 

He really needed coffee for this conversation.

“Oh, it is, is it?” Foggy said with a variety of tense gestures that Matt didn't bother tracking, “Well, that's great!” The redhead continued in a false chipper tone, “Excellent, even! And you know what? I'm glad to see you too- you know, not dead and or bleeding out in your apartment like the police department seems to think. Clearly their sleuthing skills aren't up to par.”

“You're upset,” Matt stated because, at this point, Foggy would have been going for hours and late or not, Karen would be showing up soon.

Foggy threw his hands up in the air with an indignant squawk, “Yes! Of course I'm upset! The news said there were like twenty guys with the crap kicked out of them around a trail of blood! Blood that left the scene and then disappeared without a frickin’ race are you okay.”

Matt smiled softly at his friend's concerned rant and moved his cane so that he could rest one hand at its top, “Yes, Foggy. I'm okay. The blood they found at the scene belonged to a friend of mine.”

He could practically feel Foggy glaring at him.

“You say that like it's supposed to make me feel better, but it really just sounds like you befriended an axe murderer,” Foggy said in a much more calm tone despite his still elevated heart rate.

Matt’s smile dropped, “No, Clint's not normally the axe murder type.”

“Again-”

“Hey, guys. Everything okay?” Karen asked from behind Matt.

Foggy threw his hands up again and stalked back towards his office while Matt moved out of Karen's way with a smile, “Everything's fine. Good morning, Karen.”

Karen faltered as she passed, probably sensing something in the atmosphere, but he could still hear a smile in her voice when she returned the greeting- even with Foggy gesticulaticulating wildly at Matt behind her.

Matt flashed her a grin when she mentioned making coffee instead of calling Foggy out for being childish, “Thank you. That would be nice.”

The gestures stopped the second she moved away.

Matt raised his eyebrows at Foggy before going into the redhead’s office.

Foggy closed the door behind him, “What the actual crap, Murdock!” Foggy hissed.

“He's going to be fine,” Matt said calmly because he wasn't entirely sure what part of their conversation had set his friend off now.

“I don't _ care _ if he's-” Foggy stopped, running a hand through his hair by the sound of it, “What were you even doing out there last night? I thought you were supposed to be looking for information on some guys.”

Matt nodded, “I was standing in as backup for Clint. He was supposed to be meeting an informant but Vladimir must've heard something. He had men waiting.”

“Shit,” Foggy breathed, shaken, “So the informant-”

“Dead,” Matt confirmed, “The Ranskahovs don't like snitches.”

“You can't see it, but I'm glaring at you,” Foggy said seriously then let out a sigh after another beat of silence, “What now?”

 

“Now,” Pepper started, keeping her eyes trained on the entrance to the tower rather than the anxious head of security beside her, “We wait.”

Happy scowled, “You sure Tony's okay with this? I'd really rather not be stuck doing more inventory.”

Pepper’s lips quirked upward, “Yes, I'm sure he'll be okay with this… you know, eventually… maybe.”

Happy glared at her, “You said you talked to him.”

“I did,” she nodded, still watching the door, “But you know how well he listens.”

“He listens to you,” Happy countered.

Pepper scoffed, “Right and he's stopped being Ironman, cleaned up his act, seen a therapist for his PTSD, and started talking to people before making executive decisions that will affect everyone.”

“Okay, maybe not,” Happy admitted.

“Maybe not,” Pepper agreed needlessly.

 

Peter's head was killing him. Every time the bell rang it felt like someone was drilling into his skull. He could swear his ears were bleeding even though he'd already checked three times and knew they weren't.

Peter buried his head in his arms and wished this day could be over.

His economics teacher had taken every opportunity to call on him this morning and remind Peter that he had not done the reading. 

History had been better. He'd actually remembered his homework this time and the teacher had made the mistake of calling on Michelle. The ensuing argument about sexism and the Salem witch trials had been educational (and entertaining)- If not what the teacher had planned. It had also taken up the majority of class and the teacher hadn't been able to assign the homework before everyone was out the door.

Any other day Peter would've been looking forward to the impending catastrophe that was Mr. Harrington’s lesson plan covering the Wizard of Oz in English Literature, but today, he didn't think his head could take the argument- and there _ would _ be one. Michelle had looked like she was trying to decide whether she wanted to start her spiel early or stab the teacher with her pencil when Mr. Harrington had told the class. The teacher had quite literally been saved by the bell.

“Are you going to eat that?”

Peter groaned and burrowed his head deeper in his arms. His spidey-sense bristled unhappily and his stomach rolled.

Someone grabbed something off his tray and something else settled heavily on his shoulder.

Peter flinched before he realized it was Ned's hand.

“Dude, maybe you should go see the nurse,” Ned suggested.

“What, is Pen- Ow!”

Peter looked across the table in time to see Flash rubbing at his arm and glowering at Michelle, who just continued reading her book innocently.

“Sorry,” Flash grumbled reluctantly when the only back up he got from Liz (sitting on his other side) was a glare directed at  _ him. _

Peter shrugged with a confused frown, “‘S okay, I guess,” this was too weird for him.

Flash nodded and almost immediately drew Liz into a conversation about this year's homecoming game.

After three seconds on player stats, Peter tuned them out.

“So, what now?” Need asked quietly, though, honestly, it was still too loud.

Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

Ned rolled his eyes, “Well, I doubt people normally go firing guns out apartment building windows at random. Have you talked to-”

Peter clamped a hand over his friend's mouth before Ned could spill any more hints about Peter's nightlife in the middle of the high school cafeteria.

“No, they don't and no, I haven't,” Peter hissed at him, glancing pointedly across the table.

Michelle raised an eyebrow at him over  _ Of Human Bondage _ but Liz and Flash were thoroughly distracted by each other. 

Peter waited for a beat then released Ned, “I'm working on it, okay? I can't exactly go rushing in again. He knows.”

Needs eyes widened in vaguely horrified awe, “You mean-”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, wishing there was a little more fear and a lot less excitement in his friend's eyes. Did that make him a bad person? “I officially have an arch-nemesis now,” the brunet deadpanned and hoped no-one else at the table connected the dots.

Ned grinned at his phrasing.

Michelle snorted. 

Flash shot him a weird look.

His phone buzzed.

Peter sighed- wait. He dug out his phone and frowned at the glaring screen.

Happy never texted him. Ever. Or answered the phone. It was like he was allergic to it.

**Happy:**

_ Saw the news. You okay, kid? _

_ 11:15 _

Had Mr. Stark made him text? Peter wasn't sure how he felt about that.

**_Vvv._ **

**Happy:**

_ Kid? _

_ 11:16 _

Peter hit the keyboard and began typing.

**Me:**

_ I'm fine.  _

_ 11:16 _

**Happy:**

  1. _Call if you need anything._



_ 11:17 _

 

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Officer Mahoney said, stepping back out into the hall in front of Nelson& Murdock.

Matt flashed him a smile, “Will do. Thank you for the files.”

Mahoney grunted dubiously and left.

Matt closed the door behind the officer and went back to his office with the manila envelope to call Captain Rogers. The police station didn't have any way of printing in Braille. He'd half to wait to find out what they said until the Captain was with him.

Matt shut his office door and fished out his phone. He should probably check in with Claire to make sure Clint was okay too. Steve would want to know-  _ Matt _ wanted to know. 

She'd gotten him stable by the time he left but bullet wounds to the abdominal area were tricky and he hasn't been in the best frame of mind to listen for internal bleeding.

Then there was the matter of Natasha. She was going to be royally pissed that she'd been kept out of the loop for this long.

Matt scrolled through his list of contacts.

“ _ Tasha,”  _ the phone droned.

Matt's thumb hovered over the call button.

The problem was, if he told her now, she'd drop everything and come running. Clint had stressed that they couldn't put her in that position before going into the ambush. She had to remain in the dark.

 

Pepper tapped the key card against her leg anxiously. She hated this. They had no idea who to look for when Natasha came through the door- well, aside from a woman.

Pepper was fairly confident the spy hadn't had her make the name tag as busy work.

The redhead glanced down at the plastic badge apprehensively. They hadn't had time to put a picture on it. That was why Happy's involvement was so important. If he'd been anyone else, Pepper could have just escorted ‘miss Matthers’ to the Data room and no one would think twice. But Happy wasn't anyone else. He was also a stickler about the badges and after several incidents where his concerns had proven correct, Tony had programmed Friday to earmark recordings of anyone not wearing a badge past the lobby.

“Miss Potts,” a tall woman with square glasses and her long blond hair tied back in a straight pony tail smiled holding her hand out for Pepper to shake, “Laura Matthers.”

Pepper sighed in relief and took it, “You're just in time.” She handed ‘Laura’ the badge and started towards the elevator, “Tony's been keeping Ross from searching our servers out of sheer stubbornness but he's getting close to figuring out who hacked our network.”

Laura nodded along, as they stepped into the elevator, “Will I have access to his progress? It might make things faster.”

Pepper nodded with a smile, knowing full well that wasn't why Natasha asked, “Of course. Password’s on the back of your card. Make sure to give it to Happy when you leave.”

The elevator dinged and they got out on a nearly deserted floor.

“Of course.”

“You know where to find me if you need anything,” Pepper smiled again and unlocked the door to the Data room, “Good luck.”

Laura returned her smile as she passed, “You too.”

Pepper caught a glimpse of the blonde opening a laptop before she left to talk to Happy again. She needed to talk to Tony still, but if whatever Natasha did left any traces, she didn't want to draw his attention to her and Happy's involvement.

 

Steve scowled at his laptop. Nothing. There was absolutely _ nothing _ on the guys who'd attacked Clint- or any real history on Toomes aside from a minor story about his former businesses partner. Apparently, he was going to be released from prison soon- not that that information was helpful. 

They didn't know if Toomes would try to go after him for ruining their business. They didn't know exactly _ when _ Betterman would be released, just that it would be “soon". And they didn't know where Toomes was operating from.

Steve sighed and closed out of the web browser. With any luck, Clint and Matt had taken out a good chunk of Vladimir’s men, meaning the mob was understaffed.

If they hadn't, the trio was looking at a hell of a long week.

**_Vvv. Vvv. V-_ **

Steve flipped open the phone and pressed it to his ear, “Hello?”

_ “I've got a location for us to check out tonight.” _

 

Natasha smirked down at the screen of her laptop. Looks like tonight wasn't going to be boring after all, “Found you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flash was the one who snagged Peter's lunch by the way.


	16. The Itsy Bitsy Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout.  
> Down came the rain and washed the spider out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I had to rewrite a few things.

Peter was going to die.

Okay, so,  _ maybe _ that was being a little melodramatic- but he was justified!

English Literature had been exactly as bad as he'd expected it to be- worse, actually. Mr. Harrington had said Wizard of Oz was a classic and Michelle had immediately rebutted that it was propaganda to get women to stop working outside of the home. That would have been fine if Mr. Harrington had dropped it like he normally did.

In addition to this, school getting out early meant he got to the subway right at the time everyone who went to work normally came back from lunch. To put it simply, Peter's head felt like someone was trying to stir his brain with a fork.

And he had to go back later. Stupid Spanish.

Peter dropped his keys in the dish by the door with a grimace and made sure it was locked behind him before shuffling further into the apartment. At least he could check his program's progress in the meantime. May wouldn't be home for a few hours.

Peter tossed his bag towards his bag towards the bed without looking and froze when there was no sound of it hitting.

“You've been a busy boy,” A smooth voice mused coyly.

Peter flinched and whipped around to face the redheaded woman sitting on his bed with a smug grin and his backpack in her hands.

His eyebrows climbed towards his hairline of their own accord and his mouth dipped open, “I- y-yeah- I mean I've got _ school _ so,” he pressed his lips in a firm line, trying to decide whether it would be any better if it was Mr. Stark rather than Miss Romanoff in his room. Mr. Stark, at least, couldn't- wouldn't likely- physically kill him, “What- what're you doing here?” He furrowed his brows and gnawed on his bottom lip to keep from saying anything else because  _ holy shit! How the fuck did she get in here?! _

The Black Widow calmly set his backpack down at her side and Peter was suddenly painfully aware that his spare web fluid was at school. He'd meant to pick it up after hours when the halls were empty.

“Hacking into government facilities is a very dangerous hobby, Mr. Parker,” Miss Romanoff said.

Peter's heart jumped into his throat and his spidey-sense hummed, “Did Mr. Stark-”

“Tony has no idea you touched his systems,” Black Widow interrupted, “For your sake, I suggest you keep it that way. Personally, I'd like to know how you did it.”

Peter shifted on his feet uncomfortably and shoved his hands in his sweater pockets, “Well, You know it's like any other server: You get the right codes from the right places and you can work through the holes.”

Miss Romanoff hummed dubiously, “And where did you get your codes?”

“His email,” Peter admitted with a cringe.

Black Widow nodded without so much as a twitch of change in her expression, “And you just hacked Stark industries for fun?”

Peter shrugged, suddenly finding the window sill to her right very interesting, “No. The news said they- said the Avengers- er- Captain America's team was being held without trial. And that violates their human rights so,” he trailed off with a shrug. He risked looking up when she didn't immediately respond and found the redhead staring at him with an unreadable expression. His spidey-sense buzzed agitatedly and he balled his hands into fists in their respective pockets as he mentally shoved the anxiety aside, “They had Wanda in a shock collar and a straight jacket. Captain America looked like he could use the help. I wasn't going to just leave them there.”

Miss Romanoff continued her calculating stare for another ten agonizing seconds before she switched the way her legs were crossed and leaned forward, “Is that why you're decoding files on the Winter Soldier? Because you want to help?” She asked carefully.

It was a fair question, but Peter couldn't help but feel a little offended by her implications. He straightened with a stubborn frown, “No, I want to know the truth. It's not that I don't trust Mr. Stark- I do- but he's not- he's angry and he's got every reason to be. He's not going to go digging into _ why _ Sergeant Barnes killed his parents and he's not going to listen to any us without concrete evidence if it turns out that the one guy was just manipulating him again.” He winced as he finished his disjointed explanation. He'd skipped things, motives, facts that didn't add up in his haste to get his main point across. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd said made sense, in the end.

Miss Romanoff raised a trim eyebrow, “You want to bring the Avengers back together,” she concluded.

Peter's eyes widened because, while that would be amazing, it wasn't why he was doing this at all. He had no illusions that attempting to rekindle the shattered team would work. Tony was too stubborn and the breach of trust was too severe for that to happen this soon, “I- no, I-I just-” He stopped himself with a sigh. In truth, his reasons behind looking into the Winter Soldier were entirely selfish.

“You wanted to know how Captain Rogers could choose Bucky over Tony after what he did,” Miss Romanoff guessed.

Peter fiddled with the inside of his pockets and nodded, “I mean, I get the accords part. Some of that stuff is super shady- like the lack of a trial and the fact that it hasn't passed through our government yet, but Tony didn't go to Siberia for that. He went there for Captain Rogers- to _ help _ and the real bomber guy had proof. Sure, he could probably find VHS tapes to make fake security footage, but Captain Rogers wouldn't have known that.”

Black Widow continued to stare at him, considering  _ something _ . It was kind of creepy, actually.

“Zemo didn't fake the tape,” She said finally and Peter felt any hope for the whole thing being a misunderstanding die.

“You might want to sit down,” She added seriously, “Barnes’ situation is complicated. It'll take a while to explain.”

Peter hesitated but ultimately settled into his desk chair.

Miss Romanoff leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, “How much do you know about HYDRA?”

 

Claire shrugged and kicked the mat Colleen was holding up for her, “Not much. Why?”

May fidgeted uncomfortably with the wrap on her left hand, “No reason, just- Peter has some of their files.”

Claire turned with a wide eyed look of shock and Colleen dropped the mat, “Are you serious?” Claire asked.

May nodded hesitantly, “I found then on his computer. A lot of them were about Sergeant Barnes and some program he was involved in.”

“How did he get them?” Colleen asked with an air of concern.

May shook her head, and threw up a shaky hand, “Hell if I know. I suppose he could've gotten them from Tony or the internet or _ Ned _ . I still don't know where he goes at night and those gunmen from  _ last _ night- I just- I don't know what to  _ believe _ anymore.”

Claire moved forward then, ducking slightly so their eyes met despite May looking down, “Hey. None of that,” the woman said softly.

May’s only response was a wet sniff as she scrubbed at her eyes, “Sorry. I just- I can't lose him too. He's all I've got left.”

Claire made a soft cooing sound and wrapped her arms around May's shoulders, “I know.”

She didn't promise that he'd be safe. She didn't offer any advice on how to keep him that way.

May didn't need it. 

“You can give him my number too,” Colleen offered hesitantly not sure if she was overstepping her bounds as a sensei, “For emergencies, if you want.”

May sent her a smile over Claire's shoulder, “Thank you.”

Colleen nodded, “No problem. You're a good student.”

Claire pulled away and cast the petite woman a playful glare, “What about me?”

Colleen’s lips twitched upward, “You need to work on your balance.”

 

“Any questions?” Toomes asked. 

All around him, his crew shook their heads except one.

“I have one,” The Tinkerer said, raising his hands a little before dropping it back to his side, “Why the school? Why not just go straight to the meet with your wings?”

“Well, That would be because I have other responsibilities, doc,” Adrian said calmly, “it's parent teacher conferences. I've gotta be there.”

The doc nodded and stepped back in line with the ring of men.

“Alright. Let's move out,” Toomes called.

The men cheered and the ring disbanded.

Adrian waited until their backs were turned to drop his smile and step closer to the man slumped wearily against the column behind them.

Aaron Davis watched him with a haunted expression.

Adrian would've felt sorry for him if he hadn't put that look there himself, “Remember our deal.”

Aaron nodded, gaze flickering between resentment and despair, “Just don't hurt them.”

“ _ That _ ,” Toomes said coldly, “Is entirely up to you.”

 

Peter stared numbly at the screen, unsure of what to do with the information he'd acquired.

Sergeant Barnes, The Winter Soldier, had been brainwashed and _ tortured _ for years. He'd been forced to fight alongside the very people he'd _ volunteered  _ to stop. 

Peter couldn't begin to imagine what he'd been through.

Therein lied the problem.

On the one hand, Sergeant Barnes couldn't be held accountable for his actions. On the other hand, he'd still _ done _ them. Peter had no idea how he could explain that to Tony. In Peter's experience, learning that you'd beat up an innocent person on account of mistaken identity was probably the worst feeling in the world- right up there with losing the people he loved and paper cuts.

“Peter, I'm home,” May called from the front door.

“I'm in my room,” He called back and quickly exited out of the files so she wouldn't see them.

She appeared at his door a minute later, “Hey. You ready for tonight?”

Peter looked up and smiled in an attempt to dispel the worry etched into her face, “Yeah. I'm ready.”

 

“I'm not ready,” Tony said absently, not really paying attention to what Friday had said.

“Boss. Agent Romanoff is insisting,” Friday pressed.

Tony moved the solder to another point in the circuit he was building, “Well, tell her I can have her arrested-  _ should _ , actually. Ross still isn't happy that I let her go.”

“Why don't you tell her yourself,” The ever smooth velvety voice of Natasha Romanoff said coyly.

“I forgot to change the pass codes,” He stated calmly, “Right. Friday, remind me to do that later.”

“Actually, Happy let me in,” Natasha said casually, “I hear you've been looking for me.”

Tony tilted his head to the side at the implication and pulled away from the wiring, “Nope. Don't know where you heard that.”

Looks like he didn't need to go back to digging through the mainframe after she left.

Natasha hummed and circled closer to his work bench.

Tony tried not to tense and tilted his chair away from her under the guys of switching tools, “So, what're you really doing here?”

“Happy and Pepper are worried,” Natasha said sternly, back to business, “Rhodes too. You haven't been sleeping, you've _ barely _ been eating. You can't keep this up forever.”

Tony worked his jaw, suppressing the automatic _ make me _ he wanted to say, “So you're staging an intervention.”

He felt more than saw her shrug even though she hadn't come any closer than the end of the work bench.

“You're words, not mine.”

Tony remembered when this sort of thing would be welcomed. They'd exchange witty banter, he'd put his tools away, and then they'd go rejoin the team- or if it was late, He and Natasha would strike out just the two of them, grab donuts and talk.

“Do you still want to arrest me?” Natasha asked calmly, like she could see inside his head.

Tony's grip tightened around the tweaker he'd grabbed and the small screwdriver flexed under his fingers, “Did Wanda make it out okay? She looked pretty roughed up,” He asked instead of stating the glaringly obvious  _ no _ his gut wanted him to say.

Natasha shifted closer, “You know she did.”

Tony nodded and set the screwdriver down with a sigh, “Donut Pub?”

Natasha offered him a sympathetic closed lipped smile, “It's like you read my mind.”

 

Peter trailed behind May as she lead the way through his school from his Spanish conference. Under normal circumstances, it would have probably bothered him that she knew exactly where she was going. As it was, he was more concerned about the crumpled list of numbers she'd shoved on him before they left for the train. Her nurse friend from work was at the top of it and was reasonably justifiable, but he'd also noticed her self defense instructor’s and there was at least one lawyer mixed in. What did she think he did while she was gone? 

“Mrs Parker,” A voice called, oozing polite friendliness like sap from a tapped tree.

Peter tensed and his blood ran cold as his spidey-sense wailed.

Adrian Toomes smiled and pointedly ignored him while May returned the greeting.

“Hey,” Michelle prodded, worried, suspicious, standing right next to a potential murderer like he hadn't nearly killed three thousand people.

Peter frowned, “What're you doing here?”

Michelle dropped the concern for something closer to her usual deadpan expression, “I thought I'd see what hell was like after hours. What do you think I'm doing here?”

“I thought you liked school,” Toomes said with a mild frown.

Peter clamped his mouth shut and tried to silence the tiny voice in his head listing the reasons Toomes would pay enough attention to Michelle to reach that conclusion.

“This one wanted to buy her own school supplies when she was little,” The man added fondly to May.

“ _ Dad! _ ” Michelle hissed.

Peter felt his stomach drop right out of his body. Did Michelle know?

Toomes laughed and casually glanced at his watch, “I'm going to be late for a meeting. It was nice meeting you,” he added with a friendly smile towards May and started down the hall.

Peter clenched his hands into fists while his stomach curled. This was what Toomes had been talking about. This was what he didn't want Peter to stop.

Toomes was about to release a new batch of high powered weapons to a group of criminals in a heavily populated city. Mr. Stark wasn't going to listen to him- not after the ferry incident, anyway. There wasn't really anyone else to call, either.

For whatever reason, May's list of contacts weighed heavily in his pocket.

“Peter?”

He looked up to find her watching him with concerned resignation, “I forgot I need to, uh- I was supposed to give Mr. Stark back some of his files. They're in my-Uh-” He made a vague gesture over his shoulder and bolted before May could stop him.

Both women started after him with varying degrees of concern and bewilderment.

“Michelle, What does your dad do for a living?” May asked as she slowly realized what the use of Tony Stark's name meant.

The girl shrugged with a frustrated scowl, “I don't know. He won't tell us, but he travels a lot. He used to run a cleanup crew before damage control was a thing.”

“A clean up crew,” May repeated with a sense of dread.

 

“Yeah. They used the parts they found to design new technology,” Matt explained.

“Right. Our guy's wingsuit being a prime example,” Steve concluded as they rounded the corner of the brunet’s law firm and headed down the alley beside it.

Matt winced, “That was probably a later development. They had been working on the wings well before the battle of New York.”

Steve fished the keys to Clint's car out of his pocket as they drew closer to the next street, “What were they for? Did they have a deal with someone?”

Matt shrugged, “I found one or two companies that were interested before Bestman trashed their savings. If you want further details on them, I'd get Natasha or Clint to look into them. That's more their area than mine.”

Steve nodded, unlocking the car before both men climbed inside, “I guess it'll give Clint something to do when he wakes up.”

 

“Wake up, Peter. Of course it's her dad. You knew he looked familiar,” The teen grumbled beneath his mask as he saying up to a window in the only empty warehouse in the docking zone with a car outside, “And of course he had one of his stupid henchmen with his stupid-high tech-freaking-” He yanked at the window ineffectively and let go, “Gah! What am I doing? Mr. Stark was right. I shouldn't be going after these guys. Best case scenario is they do a little time then get out and try to kill me and-” Peter sighed and pressed a fist against the glass. Worst case scenario, he failed, died trying to fix everything, Toomes’ weapons made it on the streets and into the hands of people who probably couldn't get a firearm licence if they tried. It was potentially hundreds of lives at risk here, not just his and May's.

Peter slammed his fist through the glass and yanked the frame out of the wall. He had to do this.

 

Happy scowled at Tony, “Do I have to do this?”

Tony looked between his head of security and the open hatch of the plane with one brow quirked, “Considering how you sicked a fugitive Russian spy on me in my own tower, I'd say this is fair, wouldn't you?”

Happy’s scowl deepened.

Tony smiled just to mess with him.

“Did you at least talk to her?” Happy asked with the most put upon expression Tony had seen in years.

“Yup,” The billionaire clapped him on the shoulder and used the motion to steer Happy towards the waiting plane, “We had a wonderful little heart to heart. Now, get going before you give the DOSA techs heart problems.”

“You sure you'll be okay,” Happy said dubiously, only moving about a got when Tony pushed him.

Tony glared a hand at him dismissively, “Yeah, fine. I've got Vision downstairs guarding the liquor cabinet and Rhodie’s ordering take out.”

Happy looked unimpressed, “I'm holding you to that.”

“Would you get going?” Tony scoffed with fond exasperation.

Happy narrowed his eyes at the billionaire but climbed into the plane anyway. He had a bad feeling about this.

 

Peter crouched in the shadows created by the ceiling and column he was currently hiding behind. The Vulture- or rather Toomes- was several rows of columns down with his back to the teen, tinkering with an engine block.

Peter carefully crept around the column to get a better look, ignoring the uncomfortable buzz of his spidey-sense.

A light blinked on the table beside where the engine was suspended in chains. Toomes glanced at it and calmly set the wrench he'd been handling aside.

Peter froze.

The light went out.

Toomes was watching it contemplatively.

Peter tried to slowly shift backwards across the ceiling.

The light immediately started flashing again.

Toomes slowly turned to lean back against the table, scanning the room, “You can come out. I know you're there.”

Peter cringed but kept to the shadows.

The man folded his arms over his chest, “You're not really good at this whole sneaking around thing, are you?” He mused.

The casual mockery had Peter grimacing under his mask. He could be sneaky. He hadn't done a very good job here and in the future, he'd try to avoid motion sensors when crawling around on the ceiling, but, hey, how was  _ he _ supposed to know there was one aimed up there? Not everybody thought to look out for wall crawlers.

“Seriously. Come down,” The pilot called, “I think it’s time we had a little chat man to man.”

Peter grimaced. There's no way that would end well for him, “I don't suppose I could convince you to come up here so we could talk spider to spider?”

He'd already made sure the place was empty and this whole situation would be going nowhere fast if he didn't do  _ something. _

He fired a web at one of the other pillars and used the line to control his descent to the floor.

Toomes grinned and for the first time, Peter noticed the lines in the sun weathered skin and how grey the man's receding hairline was.

Peter clenched his hands into fists in an attempt to steel his resolve. 

This man had nearly killed three thousand people. He had nearly killed Peter several times now. He could not be trusted but he was also Michelle's father. If everything worked out okay, she would lose a parent tonight.

“I don't think there's much for us to talk about,” Spider-Man said grimly.

He couldn't think about that now. As far as Toomes was concerned, Peter's mind was made up which meant it had to be.

Toomes canned his head to the side, eyes narrowing, “Really. So, you think you're going to be able to get back to your aunt in two hours?”

Peter's blood ran cold.

Engines shrieked as the wing suit streaked into the room, knocking a pillar on its way in.

Peter dove for the ground to keep his head. He didn't register the  **_boom_ ** of explosives until stone was raining down on all sides and everything went black. 

 

Toomes crouched on the platform of the billboard outside as he scanned the building for signs the kid had made it out. It wasn't that he _ wanted _ to kill him. He didn't. Michelle said Peter was a good kid and he was one of her friends. Adrian was pretty sure she had a crush on the kid as well. This was going to break her heart.

Adrian shook his head and started strapping himself into the detachable frame in his suit. Michelle could make new friends they needed this job.

 

Peter groaned and tried to suck in a breath. Panic sobbed his throat shut when all his lungs pulled in was blood. He choked and clawed at his mask with the hand not pinned under concrete and steel.

It slid free and cold air hit his face like a slap. He sucked in another breath. The air caught in his lungs as his chest refused to expand any further.

Peter clawed frantically at the ground until he got his free arm under himself and _ pushed _ .

Concrete scraped against steel, chunks of roof rumbled off the mountain of rubble, and somewhere above him metal groaned.

His arm shook without the assistance of the other. He wasn't going to make it. He wasn't-

**_Crunch._ **

The rubble bit down on him as his arm gave out.

Peter screamed.

 

Toomes glanced up from his straps with a hesitant scowl but shook his head and went back to his rigging. The kid had chosen to interfere. He'd made this bed. He could lie in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The donut place mentioned is real. Never been there, though.  
> Peter's brain got a little scrambled by the sonic cannon so he forgot about the motion sensors.   
> Toomes' suit has a lot of straps to secure various moving parts and make sure he doesn't fall out of it.  
> He used explosives and a remote detonator to blow the columns simultaneously.  
> His theory about the crush is based off of her reading On Human Bondage.


	17. Icarus Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There once was a clever inverter who made wings for himself and his son  
> Together they flew up ever so high  
> But they went much to close to the sun.

Steve leaned forward in his seat to peer out the windshield while Matt grimaced at the passenger side window, “I think I see something. It looks like-" Steve started.

“Ssh! You hear that?” Matt interrupted urgently.

Steve rolled his window down as the shape that had drawn his attention leapt into the sky, “No, what is it? Toomes is getting away.”

“Stop the car,” Matt said, unbuckling his seatbelt, “Someone's hurt. I'll go check it out. You follow Toomes.”

Steve frowned, not liking that idea at all, “Don't you think- hey!”

Matt opened the car door and jumped out before Steve had a chance to hit the breaks.

Steve belatedly stomped on them anyway and watched Daredevil run past, “Crazy son of a bitch,” Steve muttered and shifted gears so he could start up again while the Devil laughed somewhere in the distance.

At least now he knew where Clint got his lack of self preservation from.

 

Happy was not happy. That was putting it mildly. The plane was fully automated and _ invisible.  _ He had the camera feed to prove it.

The moving crew was already on sight waiting for the shipment. There was no point to him riding with it. More than that, if that Leeds kid could really be trusted, it should really be Ironman accompanying the cargo.

_ He _ could at least get out if something went wrong and the plane started to go down. Happy wasn't even sure there were shutes on this thing. (There were)

Point being, he was beyond irritated so by the time the warning light on the console started flashing, he was ready to put his fist through it. The fact that he didn't know what the annoyingly persistent notification meant didn't help matters either.

Happy sighed and pulled out his phone. Tony was more qualified to fly this thing, anyway.

 

“ _ Remember: this is basically a test run on the seal so we don't know how long it'll be able to withstand _ -”

“I've got it, doc,” Toomes interrupted, “You didn't play around with the drag flaps, did you?”

“ _ The flight stabilizers _ ?” Mason asked, “ _ Yeah, I had to do some tweaking to accommodate for the seal. Why, is it turning okay? _ ”

“It's fine, just feels different,” Toomes replied as he drew closer to the plane, “Coming up on the target.”

 

Happy scowled at the flashing light. He wasn't sure what it was supposed to be a picture of. Supposedly, The plane would deal with it. This thing was supposed to fly itself- God knows  _ Happy _ wasn't doing it.

He was starting to wish Tony had given him a run down of the controls, though.

Maybe if he kicked it-

The floor beneath him shifted and something on the panel started screaming at him, “Shit.”

 

Toomes examined the seal carefully and fished the PSCs from his pocket, “Sealed up good and tight. Entering plane.”

_ “Okay. Shouldn't be anyone on board. The flight’s completely automated,” _ Mason replied unnecessarily.

Toomes hummed in agreement and set the cubes in place. Going through the steps kept Mason calm and a calm Mason was a helpful Mason.

The cubes activated with a hum and a flash of violet light.

 

Happy glanced over his shoulder to make sure nothing had fallen over and spotted a violet glow that hadn't been there before. He immediately went for it, shoving his phone in his pocket, free hand reaching for his sidearm only to find it missing.

Right. Plane. Damnit. What had Tony given him instead again?

**_Clank._ **

Happy spun on his heel and right into the intruder’s fist. He staggered, spots dancing before his eyes, and barely raised his guard to block the second fist. The impact still sent him stumbling into the pile of crates behind him right around the same time the plane lurched again.

The intruder cursed and shuffled to the side in order to keep his feet.

Happy sincerely hoped the flash of red he caught on the monitor wasn't what he thought it was. He didn't have time to check, though.

The Vulture guy- as Peter called him- was righting himself.

Happy charged.

 

Steve glanced up at the flicker of red and blue in the sky overhead as the plain (only otherwise visible by the folded wings secured to its belly) wobbled. He hoped Tony had a plan for this.

The dark shape tilted and the whole thing turned in a great arch back for the city.

Steve pawed at his jacket then remembered he'd left his burner phone with Sam. His normal phone was in the seat of his pants and this street was too busy for him to risk fishing it out.

He really hoped Tony had a plan for this.

 

Toomes yanked on the strap he'd used to tie Stark's guy’s hands, making sure it was secured to small restroom door between the cargo hold and cockpit. The plane lurched and he scowled at the monitor showing the kid on the underside of the plane. The kid who'd had about five tonnes of concrete and metal dropped on his head. The kid who- by pretty much every law of physics- should be six feet under right now.

Toomes wasn't entirely sure he was disappointed by that. The downside to this, of course was that the kid hadn't learned his lesson yet.

Toomes stood and the clawed braces on his feet clanked against the cargo hold floor. 

He'd have to fix that.

 

Steve's heart skipped a beat and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel when the wingsuit detached from the plane. 

They twisted and swooped with an agility something that big shouldn't have and suddenly the plane was invisible again, all traces of red and blue gone.

Steve scanned the night sky-

A horn blared and he slammed on the brakes, stopping just short of the next car's bumper.

He lifted a hand at the driver with a muttered apology only he could hear and looked back up, “Come on, Queens. Come on.”

The plane reappeared in a glitching flash of light and one of the wings erupted in flames before it's engine just dropped out of its fastenings.

The car behind him honked impatiently and Steve hit the gas with more force than necessary to make the turn that would bring him in line with the plane's trajectory.

Stark Tower loomed ominously at the end of his path and Steve realized with a sinking dread that the plane was flying low enough to hit it.

 

“ _ Boss! I'm telling you you've gotta leave it!” _ Mason yelled.

Toomes winced but tooned him out in favour of letting go of the plane to crash into Peter.

The kid went flying but caught hold of the tail with a web.

Metal screeched as Toomes clamped back onto the aircraft.

“ _ Boss, you've gotta listen to me! It's going to crash!” _

Toomes stopped, “What?”

“ _ The plane's headed for Stark Tower! You've gotta get out of there!” _ Mason shouted.

Toomes glanced over his shoulder while Peter regained his feet to see the former home of the Avengers shimmering like a broken mirror, “Damnit.” So much for making up their losses.

He pushed off the plane, nearly clipping the kid in the head with his feet as he swerved to avoid the last of the plane's tail.

“You guys are clear, right?” He asked turning to watch the impending crash.

The kid was still there, hoodie whipping around his scrawny frame like a ghost trying to pull him away. He could jump and probably be fine at this height. Toomes had been a lot higher up when he'd dropped him and there were buildings the kid could catch. Why didn't he jump?

“...  _ Clear _ ,” Mason finished.

Toomes shook his head, “What?

“ _ We're clear _ ,” The technician repeated.

The plane arched again, turning away from its destruction towards the empty beach near Coney Island.

“Good,” Toomes said decisively and talked after it, “Make sure it stays that way. I'll meet you at the rendezvous in thirty.”

“ _ You're still going after it?” _

“Not on a collision course anymore,” Toomes replied, “As long as I'm out before it hits water we're fine.”

“ _ You're insane!” _ Mason fired back.

“We need this job, Mason,” Toomes said firmly and got ready to grab the CPSs.

“ _ There are other shipments!”  _ Mason protested.

“ _ I _ need this job,” Toomes snapped.

“ _ Boss!” _

Toomes slipped under the plane and reengaged the seal.

 

Peter's arms shook and the wind yanked at his hoodie with cold fingers but he felt warm. They were going to make it. The plane was making a slow descent towards the beach by the Coney island amusement park. 

“Okay. We're ok-”

The whole plane jerked as the right wing connected with that dumb swing tower and the web Peter had been using to control the drag flaps was yanked out of his hand.

“Oh God.”

 

Steve watched the ride go dark as it's top half fell behind the few buildings that obscured his view with most of the plane's wing.

Steve tightened his grip on the steering wheel as the sound of splitting steel and fire roared on the horizon.

 

Happy grimaced and staggered towards the gaping hole that was the back of the plane, clumsily unraveling the mess of shoelaces and door handle Toomes had left him with. The crash had snapped the door handle off and Happy would be thanking any good that would listen (including Thor) that Tony skimped on quality for once.

He yanked and the choir knob came free a second before his hand did.

The head of security coughed as acrid smoke mixed with the air in his lungs and he froze.

The back half of the plane had broken up and scattered in fiery chunks across the sand.

The entire beach was in flames.

He'd very nearly been back there. The Toomes guy _ had  _ been.

Happy swallowed and scowled when a small figure wavered among the flames.

_ The kid _ .

The head of security huffed in fond aggravation. Of course he showed up.

“Tony better not pin this on me again,” Happy grumbled, missing the whir of damaged wings.

Green flickered through the smoke and Happy’s stomach flipped, “Kid! Get down!”

Toomes swooped in, battered and ragged, like a vulture. The kid disappeared.

Happy jumped out of the plane and stumbled on the sand, scrambling for the broken crate closest to him. There had to be something useful in this scrap heap.

 

Peter struggled to rise despite the searing pain in his back.

A foot slammed down on his chest, making the teen cry out with what little breath he had left. Something else clamped down on his chest and everything went white in a loud  **_snap_ ** !

Peter screamed and suddenly breathing became so much more difficult than he'd ever thought possible.

Black spots danced in his vision. It made the green lights of Toomes’ mask warp and swirl.

“Kids these days; you just don't know when to _ give up _ , do you?,” the metallic voice warbled through his mask.

Peter choked and desperately tried to suck in just one breath but Toomes put more pressure on the teen's already damaged ribs.

“You should have taken the deal. I wouldn't have to kill you and this wouldn't be nearly as messy,” The Vulture said but Peter could barely hear the man over the blood pounding in his ears.

He couldn't see- couldn't lift his arms to even try to claw the man's foot off his chest. He-

The sound of something ripping split the air.

 

Steve skidded to a halt at the edge of the beach parking lot. 

Flames writhed in the sand, devouring the scattered remains of a jet. The front half of plane lay partially submerged in the ocean surf some twenty yards away. 

Good, he hoped nobody had been _ in _ that.

“Hey!”

Steve startled at the shout.

Happy was running across the beach as fast as he could towards some point off to Steve's right.

The engines of a small one man suit shrieked and sputtered right before a familiar shout of alarm met the old soldier's ears.

Steve stepped onto the sand and squinted past the flames by an overturned delivery truck as another agonized scream split the night.

Wings. Big, metal and predatory with wisps of spiderweb clinging to their many shifting plates like a shroud were the first thing he noticed. Next, were the glowing green eyes in the metal helmet. Last, was the small frame pinned to the ground by the winged man's talons.

Steve started moving even before the man lifted the body off the ground with his talons to hold it between himself and the approaching threat, creeping forward in order to get a good angle of attack and assess the state of the bod- the  _ boy _ the man was using as a shield.

Happy stopped thirty feet away with his sidearm trained on Toomes, “Drop him!”

The boy had been transferred to one of the man's wings now, hanging limp by the hood of his outfit.

Steve slipped quietly along the sand, creeping into the area the wing blocked from view. He would have one shot at this.

“I said **drop** him, Damnit!” Happy snapped.

Toomes shifted the kid more in front of himself and something started to rip.

Steve didn't wait to find out what. He shifted the last few get into position and charged, jumping at the last second so the force of impact would hopefully shorten the fall for the kid.

The wing shuddered and the boy dropped.

Steve landed in a crouch beside him and whirled on his toes to face the kid's attacker.

The man twisted to the side before lifting off the ground and trying to make a grab for the interloper.

Steve grabbed him by the ankle and slammed him into the beach at an angle his wingsuit wasn't able to compensate for.

The man met the sand with a tremendous crash several yards away and almost immediately started to rise.

Steve tensed, ready to hold his ground should the man attack again.

He didn't. As soon as the winged man was on his feet again, Happy opened fire.

 

Steve dropped back down beside Spider-Man.

The suit-  _ hoodie _ the kid was wearing was soaked through. The red made it hard to tell if it was blood or not, especially with the punctures and tears in the fabric.

Steve pressed two fingers to the kid's bare throat.

The kid flinched and his eyes shot open bit they skittered around, not really settling on anything, “May? May!”

Steve leaned over him, resting a hand lightly over the bloody spider emblem on the teen's chest, “Queens, can you hear me?”

The kid's head rolled on the sand and he swallowed almost conclusively, “He's- May…”

“Queens,” Steve pressed, “I need you to focus.”

The kid's breathing hitched, “ _ May. _ S-Sorry. I'm sorry. Sorry…”

Steve looked around the beach wearily and made his decision. Carefully sliding his arms under the kid, Steve climbed to his feet, “You're okay. It's okay, Queens. I've gotcha,” he muttered when Spider-Man gave a muted cry of pain, “I've got you. We're going to get you help.”

“May,” Spider-Man mumbled into Steve's chest.

The blond adjusted his grip on the kid and turned to leave-

“Happy?”

Steve’s gaze immediately snapped to Stark's head of security and the man froze, gun slack in his hand but still very present. 

Happy moved first, stepping away with a somber nod, to go see to the plane's cargo.

Steve carefully readjusted the grip on his charge and turned away. 

“May,” the teen moaned worriedly.

“Who's May?” Steve asked, shifting around the last bit of debris before they reached the parking lot.

“May… He's gon…”

Steve sighed and focused on getting them out of there.

With Happy’s absence, no one remained to protest when Steve deposited the semiconscious teen in the passenger seat of Hawkeye’s car.

Clint had reluctantly allowed him to borrow it under the condition that it not come to the same fiery death as any of Steve's other unfortunate transports. So far so good.

There wasn't so much as a scratch in the deep purple paint and his jacket was between the kid's and the seats- not that he was especially worried about that right now.

Steve gave the carnage at the beach a last cursory glance before climbing into the old Chevy Nova and driving away.

“Run.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block is so much fun. =_=


	18. The Woes of Daedalus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vulture returns to it's nest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't see it already, this chapter's really short.

The bay doors opened and Toomes dropped with a loud crash and a shower of sparks.

“Boss!”

He shrugged off the damaged wings with a growl.

“Did you get him?” Mason called.

Toomes snapped his gaze to the small band of anxious faces, “No,” he grumbled and all but one of them slumped in disappointment.

Toomes tempted down the stairs of the landing pad and made his way towards the others, “He had backup which is why, next time, we're going to hit him where no one can help,” the pilot stopped in front of the only person who hadn't felt defeat at the news that Spider-Man was alive.

David glared up at Toomes like he wanted to drive a knife through his heart.

“You're up, Davis,” Toomes said, “Remember what'll happen if you back out of our deal.”

Davis stood, still glaring, fists balled and shaking at his sides, “I remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear.


	19. From the Ashes, Comes Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint needs a sandwich. It's too early for this, Damnit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day! I do believe we're back.

Clint was, to put it lightly, not happy. Laura had been more than patient when Clint decided to answer the Captain's call for assistance, even though his forced retirement had offered the perfect chance to stay with his family. She was still being patient with him being a fugitive unable to call because it would compromise their position- especially with Tony Stark on their trail.

If Clint was being perfectly honest with himself, this was probably the best case scenario. He was stuck, miles from home, in a room with a moping teenager and an ex-paratrooper and he couldn't even go get a sandwich because Captain America needed to borrow his car. Now look who's moping.

It's not like he could _drive_ right now, anyway.

Clint glowered out the window at the sunrise shining through the buildings across the street as Sam paced behind him. The dull thud of the vet's boots barely registered in his hearing aides, just masking the crackle of Wanda’s telekinesis.

Clint shoved the urge to see what she was playing with away when a familiar car turned onto their street, “He's back.”

Sam quickly joined him at the window and a chair clattered against the hardwood floor somewhere behind them.

“Is he alright?” Wanda asked.

Clint shrugged, keeping his eyes on the vehicle below them. Cap didn't seem hurt, “Well, He's driving my car still, so, he can't be that bad off.”

Sam hummed dubiously as the car pulled up.

There was an extra occupant slumped against the passenger door, just visible through the side window.

Clint frowned and Sam left to meet them at the front door while the Captain got out and circled around to the passenger side.

“Who's that with him?” Clint asked absently while Wanda peered over his shoulder.

“I don't… Peter,” She muttered, “It will take time to get more. His thoughts are,” she cut herself off and Clint felt more than saw the obscure hand gesture she made by his ear.

“Scrambled?” He guessed, watching Cap carefully scoop the kid up and carry him inside.

Wanda hummed agreement, “He is afraid.”

The front door creaked open and Sam cursed.

“Uh uh. Nope. I am _not_ adding accessory to kidnapping to the long list of crimes I've committed since meeting you,” Sam said stubbornly.

Clint smirked at the stern glance Cap shout the paratrooper.

The coffee table glowed red and moved away from the couch to make way.

“I didn't kidnap him,” Cap said with a dusting of irritation as he laid the kid out on the sofa.

“Tell that to the feds when they come for you,” Sam retorted, but Clint could tell he was just trying to shift tension at this point.

“They're already after us,” Clint pointed out anyway. He was bored, hungry and Lang still wasn't back with groceries yet.

Cap tried to shoot him a stern look too but Clint was immune at this point.

“That's not the point,” Sam retorted.

Cap straightened and moved for the door again, “No, the point is he's hurt, we're helping him, and I need to go get Daredevil. See what you can do until Claire gets here. He got thrown around a lot.”

“You're leaving us with him?” Sam asked incredulously.

Clint would've rolled his eyes if the action didn't hurt his head.

“He went to help someone who was hurt. He could be in trouble,” The blond replied.

Clint snorted and grimaced when _everything_ protested, “ow. Just go, Cap. We got this.” He willfully ignored the look Sam shot him as Rogers left with a nod.

“Great! Now what?” Sam asked, throwing his hands up.

Clint carefully rose to his feet, using the chair as support until Wanda took hold of his arm, “Get the first aid kit in the closet by the bathroom.” He limped over to the coffee table with Wanda keeping him steady and wearily sat down near the kid's head, “Thanks. Think you could keep digging with him; see what has him so freaked out?”

The redhead furrowed her brow but nodded, eyes immediately flashing red.

Clint turned back to the kid sprawled out on his couch and slowly unwrapped Cap’s jacket.

A torn black spider emblem, drowning in crimson, stared back at him.

Clint paused for a split second and unzipped the hoodie. Queens, huh?

The hoodie gave way to an elaborate network of cuts, punctures and bruises that made Clint chest hurt just looking at them. He prodded the kid's abdomen anyway and relaxed slightly when it wasn't abnormally stiff. Not in shock, then.

“Shit. What was the kid doing?” Sam hissed above them.

Clint took the first aside kit from him with a wince and set it down on the couch, leaving the lid against the kid's hip, “Probably got into a fight with Cap's vulture guy, from the looks of him.” He pulled out the bottle of disinfectant and some swabs to wipe down the cuts.

“He's a _kid_ , Clint,” Sam retorted.

“A kid with super strength and damn good reflexes,” Clint replied, clearing up the blood around a puncture in the- _Peter's_ upper chest, “He took you and Barnes down.”

“What? No he-”

Clint could almost hear the second it clicked in the paratrooper’s head, “I don't think he's that much younger than Wanda.”

“I have it,” Wanda said.

Clint pressed a gauze pad over the puncture he'd been trying to clear out to stop the bleeding.

“What? Have what?” Sam asked.

“His name is Peter Parker,” she said, ignoring Sam, “And Toomes threatened to kill his- a May Parker? I couldn't tell what she was to him. But she's important.”

Clint nodded grimly, “Call Cap. He has another stop to make.”

 

Claire was most definitely not a morning person. Between late night hospital hours and the odd borderline-suicidal vigilante swinging by her apartment every night, It was nearly impossible. That being said, she had already been awake when she got the call from Steve. She was definitely awake enough to recognize who needed her help when she forced the description out of him. She was not; However, awake enough for the impending wrath she would face if the kid didn't pull through. It was way too early for this shit.

Claire shouldered her medical bag with a satisfied nod to herself and grabbed her keys. She had what she needed. She could do this.

 

Tony stared at the news with a forced calm while anxiety and guilt simmered beneath. Happy had called. The kid had quite literally saved his ass on this one and- if Tony was being honest- Tony’s.

Romanoff had run off to wherever Romanoff ran to when she was an international fugitive and not guidance counselor to the depressed. Tony and Rhodes were just starting in on their Chinese when Vision said there was an incoming call from Happy. An incoming call that wound up being the sound of Tony's head of security being knocked unconscious.

Tony had gone for his suit immediately. He'd been ready to fly out and meet the plane- hopefully redirect it when Ross called.

Tony would have ignored him- tried to ignore him- but Ross shut down Tony's suit before the inventor could get ten feet. The whole thing came crashing down and all Tony could think as Rhodes and Vision came rushing into the room and he lay trapped in a dead suit was that Steve had been right.

 

On the other side of the river, in a small apartment in Queens, May Parker sat curled up on one end of a couch built for three with a cordless phone in her hand and tears in her eyes.

 _“Again, police are not releasing the exact number of casualties, but we can confirm the passengers of the plane are alive,”_ The news anchor said gravely.

May swallowed and considered calling Tony. It was his plane. He would know more details, right? But what if Peter called? Or Claire?

May’s grip on the phone tightened as she dialed Peter's number and preyed to any god that would listen for him to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint is so much fun to write.  
> And personally, I feel like Ross (Mr. I'm going to chase hulk and brake a million laws because he's dating my daughter not formerly Mr. Bilbo Ross(are they both named Ross? I need to check that)) just wants Bruce Banner under his thumb. Jokes on him, but we'll get to that later. ;)


	20. The Hand of the Minotaur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve steps in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a lot longer, but I figured it was probably better to post a chapter before Christmas and the timing in the chapter worked out well.

Matt stumbled as a chunk of concrete shifted underneath him. He managed to grab hold of a large metal object- what had once been the building's Air Conditioning unit before he could fall completely. The action made more rubble shift and the cloying stench of blood filled his nose even more.

Whoever it was that had been hurt, had fallen silent a long time ago. He couldn't even hear their heartbeat. He was hoping that wasn't because they were dead.

Concrete scraped together a ways off, “Daredevil?”

Matt dropped the last foot or so to crouch beside the source of the blood and ripped off one of his gloves to feel around, “Here.”

The concrete was still warm in places and he was beginning to hope that the person had made it out when his fingers meet damp cloth. The scent of iron rose fresh once again as his fingers closed in the fabric.

Captain Rogers shuffled closer and cursed under his breath.

Plastic clinked against concrete and bloody water sloshed as Matt lifted the fabric out of a puddle be hadn't noticed until now.

“I know who's that is,” Steve said quietly, “I've got him at Clint's apartment. Claire's going to take a look at him.”

Matt nodded and pressed an ungloved hand to the rubble near the puddle again, “If he was in here when the building collapsed, I should probably see him too.”

 

Steve glanced to either side as he entered the apartment building to make sure he wasn't being followed. He had a feeling the kid's cover was already blown, but he wasn't about to be the reason for it if he was wrong. Daredevil was up top just in case, but he was hoping to avoid that kind of confrontation. It would raise too many questions.

Taking Matt to Clint's place had turned out to be a moot point. Claire had already left and Matt had determined that Queens’ injuries were healing abnormally fast even by Steve's standards. Point being, the kid wasn't going to die as long as he let himself heal. Now it was up to Steve to make sure he still had something to live for when he got home.

The street was just as empty as he'd found it and the stairwell stayed that way when he climbed to the fourth floor. So far so good. Maybe he was-

The door to the stairs opened and closed.

Steve peered over and saw two more men with heavy coats.

“I still don't see why we can't go on the elevator. It's not like anyone's waiting for us,” the first grumbled.

“That's what they want you to think,” the other replied.

Steve picked up his pace as quietly as possible and slipped out of the stairwell on May’s floor.

A glance at his phone told him which door to go to but his knock went unanswered.

Several people shifted inside the apartment and a third choked on a sob.

Now, in hindsight, he should have probably just knocked again. It was the middle of the night and May's kid was missing, so, of course, she called someone. 

Steve; However, did not have this context and he didn't knock again. He took a step back instead and kicked the door in.

He had a split second to register Claire and an Asian woman with a sword before the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is why you knock.


	21. A Gamble and a Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May is not impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to name this Tangled for fun but then it got serious so...

**Ten minutes earlier**

“And you tried calling?” Colleen asked gently.

May nodded with a wet sniff, “He won't answer. I tried T-ony too but it was just his answering machine. I should've stopped him,” she trailed off as she choked on another sob.

Colleen rubbed gentle circles into her back, “I'm sure he's fine. You said you couldn't get a hold of Claire, right? If she's with him, you know he's safe.”

The front door opened and both women whipped towards it, weapons drawn (Colleen, her sword, May, the frying pan she'd used to answer the door when colleen had arrived).

Claire froze just inside the doorway with her hands partially raised, “Okay, I'm pretty sure no one's called you to say Peter's dead so that's a bit of an overreaction,” she said slowly, “What's going on? He's fine, by the way.”

May sagged against the back of the couch in dazed relief while Colleen explained what May had guessed about Peter's connection to one Adrian Toomes.

With everything laid out fresh, the full weight her nephew's situation came flooding back and May choked on a sob.

**_Tap. Tap. Tap._ **

The three women froze. Claire meet May's gaze, silently asking if she had called anyone else.

May shook her head with a wet sniff and scrambled to her feet as Claire quickly moved away from the door.

Colleen drew her sword and May slipped quietly to the corner just inside the entry way with her frying pan ready.

**_BANG!_ **

The door flew off its hinges and May swung her frying pan as hard as she could.

It collided with the intruder’s head with a loud **_pang_ ** and Steve Rogers crumpled to her living room floor.

May clutched her frying pan to her chest with a sympathetic cringe, “That's Captain America, isn't it.”

“Shit,” Claire mused.

Colleen made a sound of half hearted agreement.

May scrunched her eyes shut and groaned, “How is this my life?”

 

Scott slipped into the stairwell for Clint’s apartment and started up the narrow passage. The door opened and Wanda sucked out to grab some of the grocery bags he was carrying before going back inside without a word.

Scott blinked and shook his head. He wasn't going to get used to that.

The living room of the apartment was empty when he stepped inside- well, empty aside from the kid lying on the couch with Captain America's coat draped over him- Wait a minute.

“Wanda who's that?” He called, moving into the kitchen in the wake of rustling groceries.

“His name is Peter,” She replied without looking up from sorting refrigerated goods from non.

Scott gave an exaggerated nod, “Okay, good to know, but _who_ is he? Why's he here?”

Wanda paused in her fidgeting and Scott backed off, setting his bags on the kitchen table so she could tell where he was. She was nervous. He just wished he knew why.

“Steve found him over by Coney island,” she said finally, “The man he and Clint were trying to capture- Toomes- He brought down one of Stark's planes.”

Scott frowned as her eyes flickered red and she flinched, “Okay,” he said slowly, “But what's the kid- Peter,” he corrected when her eyes flicked his way, “got to do with any of this?”

“He tried to stop him,” Wanda said quietly.

Scott pressed his lips into a firm line, “Right… I'm sorry, who?” There were too many hes in that situation.

Wanda leveled him with a dead eyed stare.

Scott shifted on his feet uncomfortably, “Okay. Where's Captain Rogers?”

 

Steve woke with a pounding headache and a tight feeling across his chest. When he went to run a hand over his face, he was met with resistance and something creaked. He furrowed his brows but didn't try to open his eyes just yet.

“He's awake.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“Thank his thick skull,” a third woman corrected dryly, “That hit should've killed him.”

The first woman scoffed, “Not this one.” Claire.

Someone drew closer and closed hands pressed at his scalp carefully.

“Think he's here for the files?” The third woman asked.

“Colleen!” The second hissed, presumably May.

The hands withdrew, “well?” Claire asked with a warning edge to her voice.

Steve slowly raised his head to look up at her.

May Parker stood a few feet behind her with a frying pan dangling from one hand.

“I came for May,” He said wearily and felt someone shift behind him.

“Her kid's worried about her,” he continued and really wished he'd stuck around long enough to find out the kid's name.

“Her kid was unconscious last time I checked,” Claire said sternly, “How do you know?”

Steve leaned forward and froze when a blade pressed against the side of his throat.

“Wanda,” he said and hoped that was enough explanation for the nurse.

Claire nodded unhappily and took a step back.

May Parker looked between her and Steve with frustrated confusion, “Who the hell is Wanda?”

 

Wanda looked up at Peter, now huddled in the upper most corner of the wall, from her perch on the coffee table with her hand still outstretched. She'd been in the process of waking him anyway but she hadn't meant for him to do that. He was going to knock himself back out at this point.

Peter's frightened, glassy gaze jerked towards her right and Wanda wearily followed it.

Sam grimaced from the doorway to the kitchen, “Okay, that's freaky. I thought that was just part of the suit.”

Behind him, Scott frowned, “Suit?”

“That's Spider-Man,” Sam explained, pointing in the general direction of the frightened, delirious teen above them, “Spider-kid, really. Stark probably gave him the suit you saw him in.”

Scott grimaced, “Right. Now what?”

“We calm him down,” Sam replied with a shrug, “I'm a former guidance counselor, you're a dad, _she's_ an actual teen. How hard could it be?”

Scott quirked a brow, “My daughter was born while I was in prison, Wanda has had little to no contact with anyone her age for over three years and you haven't worked with kids since SHIELD imploded.”

“Very hard,” Wanda concluded helpfully.

That would, of course, be the moment the front door opened.

Sam and Scott turned to see who it was and Wanda could almost see the disaster before it happened.

Peter dove off the wall.

Natasha spun with the force of the lunging teenager and somehow managed to use him to shut the door without hurting him.

Peter yanked at her grip but it only tightened as she leaned in closer to mutter something in his ear.

Wanda could feel the emotions warring for dominance as the teen looked at Natasha with a mixture of disbelief and shock.

The redhead gave him a small nod and he dropped forward.

Somewhere between that moment and the both of them sliding to the floor, Natasha wrapped her arms around him.

Peter's fingers immediately clenched in the back of her hoodie and his head dropped to her shoulder with a relieved sob.

“Okay, that is just…” Sam trailed off with a shake of his head and turned away from the pair, “I've filled my quota of weird for today.”

Scott raised an eyebrow at his back and moved towards the kitchen with a muttered, “I'm gonna make orange slices.”

Wanda nodded absently, gaze still focused on the trembling teen crying into Natasha’s shoulder while she muttered in Russian.

Wanda wasn't close enough to hear all of it, but she definitely caught “spider" a few times before Natasha looked up.

“Wanda, could you get him a glass of water?”

Wanda nodded and pushed Sam and Scott back into the kitchen with her.

 _Steve is checking on May Parker,_ she thought to the spy and gestured for the two men she'd corralled to stay away from the door with a reprimanding hiss. Natasha had asked for a moment alone and she would have it.

 

Steve watched May run her hand up and over her scalp in distress. Her back was to him and her frying pan was abandoned on the counter but Claire's scowl and the sword at his throat more than made up for it. Steve had no doubt in his mind that May Parker would have been fine if he hadn't shown up.

“Is this a bad time?”

Everyone looked towards the open door and Claire sighed at the sight of Daredevil standing there uncertainly.

“No, Matt, come in,” the nurse said wearily.

The woman Steve assumed was Colleen seemed to be the only one surprised by the name as Matt stepped into the apartment in his full Daredevil attire.

“Captain Rogers,” the Devil greeted with a calm nod.

“Daredevil,” Steve replied, returning the nod with a small wave that was somewhat hampered by the duct tape still binding him to the desk chair.

“Ladies, I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot here,” Matt continued, cautiously stepping further inside.

Colleen shifted in Steve's peripherals and her sword dug into his neck.

Matt stopped, head tilted to the side but he focused in on May, “We're here to help. Your son's been making trouble for some very bad people and they know who you are.”

May straightened, having none of it, “Really? Did _they_ tell you this?”

“No,” Steve said before Daredevil could piss her off further.  They'd clearly missed something.

_“May!”_

Oh. That _would_ seem suspicious, especially since he'd kicked the door in.

All eyes were focused on him.

Steve hoped he was right, “Your nephew did. He was worried.”

“There were two men in the stairwell sent to kill you,” Matt added, which didn't really help their case, “It won't take long before their boss notices they haven't reported in.”

May eyed the red-clad vigilante wearily but nodded and Colleen finally removed her sword from Steve's throat.

“What's your plan?” May asked.

Colleen sliced through the duct tape on Steve's left arm and went about uniting the route around his chest.

Steve glanced at Daredevil and tugged at the tape on his other arm with his free hand, “We were going to move you to a safe location and take out any hostiles along the way.”

May raised an eyebrow skeptically, “So… kidnapping.”

Steve grimaced.

“Well… yeah, basically,” Matt admitted.

“You can stay at my place,” Claire said with a stem look aimed at the lawyer, “I can take you to see Peter tomorrow, but they really don't have the room for another person and I'd really rather not move him just yet."

May clenched her hands into fists and her eyes bored into Steve, “Is he safe?”

Steve did his best to meet her gaze as calmly as he could, “As safe as he can be. I have my team looking after him.”

May nodded quickly and Steve wasn't sure if that was for his benefit or hers, “Okay.” She looked between Colleen, Matt, and Claire, “Okay. Let me just-” she made a vague gesture with trembling hands towards a hall Steve had failed to notice and left.

“I'd better help her,” Claire followed.

“I'm going to make sure the stairwell’s still clear,” Matt declared as Steve climbed to his feet.

Colleen sheathed her sword as soon as he left and gathered up the discarded bindings.

Steve awkwardly pulled the chair out of her way and cleared his throat, “Where does this go?”

It got a glance from her, “Peter's room. Just leave it. He can put it back after we've sorted this mess.”

“That's okay. I can get it,” Steve said. The kid wasn't going to be in the condition to lift much weight for a while, even with his accelerated healing, “Which is his?”

She cast him an annoyed look and shoved the ropes and duct tape into the garbage with extra ferocity, “Straight down the hall.”

Steve wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. The last time he'd been in a kid's room- besides Wanda’s- it had been Cooper Barton’s. It had been full of small plastic blocks, dinosaurs, and pages upon pages of drawings.

Walking into Peter's room was like going into a combination of Cooper’s room and one of Tony's labs. The bits of dismantled electronics weren't as shiny as the billionaire’s but the few semi-constructed devices had clearly been assembled with care and- while they weren't crayon drawings- Newspaper clippings littered the desk almost more than spare parts, pictures of the Avengers working together- Steve holding a metal I-beam in place while Ironman welded it there so they could have a stable path for civilians, Wanda and Vision helping people out of second and third story windows while the first floor burned.

Steve absently set the chair down at the desk and caught sight of another picture- this one a photograph- in a frame tucked behind the larger of two computer monitors. In it, a woman with much lighter brown hair than May tickled what Steve could only assume was a much younger Peter Parker. The other half was obscured by a clipping that read:

**Captain America?**

Steve brushed the clipping aside to pick up the frame.

A man laughed at the toddler's plight and his hand hovered near the woman's shoulder while May sat on her knees smiling at the camera with such warmth, it made Steve wonder who had been on the other side.

“Those were Peter's parents.”

Steve whirled to face the door, fingers twitching for a shield that wasn't there, but he only found May leaving wearily against the door frame.

He relaxed but she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes remained fixed on the photo in his hands, “Ben- my late husband- took it right before they left. Peter's six in that.”

Steve looked back at the picture, “You all look happy,” he said weakly, uncertain of what else to say.

May nodded and finally looked up to meet his gaze, “You're sure he's safe.”

Steve moved closer to her and held out the photo, “I'd stake my life on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They tied Steve up because, while Matt has worked with him before and Clint knows him, none of them know him. Also, he broke May's door.  
> They are fully aware that he could rip right through the route and duct tape which is why colleen was so touchy with her sword and May was initially holding her frying pan. With him situated like that, they could take him out before he did more than get an arm loose.  
> Also, Colleen was annoyed because she was trying to keep him from eavesdropping on May and Claire. She knows him even less than they do so she would trust him near her friends less than they would.  
> Hope everyone had a hair new years! :-)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to ask questions or make suggestions about what to add in. Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
